


PER ASPERA: Unprepared

by Indiannahjones



Series: PER ASPERA [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action/Adventure, Babyfic, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Pregnancy, Romance, Sexual Content, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:05:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 348,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indiannahjones/pseuds/Indiannahjones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the events of the Reaper War, Shepard finds herself unexpectedly pregnant with a cross-species baby... Garrus' baby.  She decides to keep her pregnancy a secret as her responsibilities begin to multiply, with the war drawing ever closer to a catastrophic head, but as time passes she finds her secret harder and harder to keep... and the decision on what to do with her child nearly impossible to make.</p><p>[R&R welcome and appreciated!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. DAY -1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during the course of Mass Effect 3, and as such several instances of dialogue and situational events in the fic are taken verbatim from the game, itself. This was done intentionally as an attempt to make the story seem more plausibly conterminous with the actual game; however, the fic ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT follow a direct novelization of the game – some characters, missions, situations, and conflicts have been added, changed, or removed as per the author's discretion in an attempt to strengthen and/or enhance the quality and clarity of the story. Additionally, the author clearly does not own Mass Effect or any of its characters, locations, situations, etc. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the fic!

Palaven was in ruins, and Menae seemed like it was very close to being the next to go.

The moon had been set up several years ago as a base of military operations, both as a means of convenience for turian troops and also as a way to draw destructive attention away from Palaven. Palaven was their home, the place where in times of peace they made their livelihoods, as well as the place where their wives, their children, the infirm, and the elderly still lived, and where they expected to be kept safe. But even the best-laid plans had a way of falling through, a fact that was becoming only too apparent as the cracked, burning surface of the darkened homeworld stared down at them, watchful, from the starlit skies of Menae. The Reapers had no taste for strategy – they were beings of destruction and destruction, alone. Still, Shepard had to admit that the turians had done a commendable job of luring the Reapers away from their home world and over to the adjacent moon, for whatever good it had done them in the long run. She figured that with the preservation of Palaven as their main concern, the turians would be only too happy to sacrifice Menae if it meant having a fighting chance to save their planet. It seemed like an extremist view, at least to Shepard, but she had never quite seen eye-to-eye with the turians, no matter how hard she had tried – a fact which had nothing to do with being shorter than even the smallest of their species.

Clutching her gun to her chest, Shepard jogged towards the makeshift strategy shelter at the centre of the camp, her gait slowing to an energized walk as the siding of the main pergola lowered, converting instead into a ramp of sorts. Coming to a stop a few yards away from the pergola, she watched as the ramp came to a rest on the rocky ground and two tall, majestic turian soldiers, war-torn but proud, descended down its face. The first was taller than the second, clearing what she guessed was a good seven feet, and wore all-black armour, illuminated by evenly-spaced bars of red light. His tribal markings were white, and appeared to be caked on, as if he had slathered on the war paint to make his markings more visible to his soldiers from far away. It was a good precaution, she realized, as the markings of turians were an important factor in being to tell them apart, and in a place as dimly-lit, hellish, and war-torn as Menae, being able to tell friend from foe and commander from commanded was extremely important, making every precaution taken an absolute necessity. Like her, this turian carried a Marauder assault rifle, but his had been detailed to match his armour, and also looked to be of a heftier, more ammunition-heavy make than her own – more than likely a turian-modified design. Turian soldiers were larger than human soldiers, so it stood to reason that they would be able to carry larger weapons, but she still could not help the fleeting pang of jealousy she got when she looked at the spruced-up weapon.

Quickly pushing the thought from her mind, Shepard started towards the turian soldier, hearing the crunch of heavy boots against the coarse ground as Garrus and Vega followed dutifully behind her. "General Victus?" she asked, her voice even, raising her voice so that he would be sure to hear her, even over the sounds of war exploding in the background.

General Victus' gait slowed at the sound of his name, until finally he came to a stop in front of Shepard, looking down at her, seeming a bit taken aback by the note of familiarity with which she had addressed him. "Yes?" he asked, trying not to betray too obviously that he could not remember ever having met the woman before, but the halted tenor of his voice gave him away.

"I'm Commander Shepard of the Normandy," Shepard introduced herself curtly, and, almost as if by magic, Victus' expression cleared instantaneously at the only-too-familiar name.

"Ah, Commander," he replied, a smoother, more relaxed air to his voice now as he lifted his gun over his head, tucking it securely into the magnetic locks of the holster at his back. "I know who you are. I can't wait to find out what brings you out here." Shepard paused, a bit thrown by the almost sarcastic note in the General's tone, but he only allowed her a moment of thought before tucking his hands coolly behind his back and turning on her turian companion, demanding, "Vakarian! Where did you go?"

"Heavy Reaper unit on the right flank?" Garrus replied, his tone collected as ever, the same note of sarcasm in his voice as in his commanding officer's, and Shepard had to wonder for a moment if this level of playful cynicism was the way all turian soldiers normally spoke to one another. "I believe your exact words were, 'get that thing the hell off my men'."

"Appreciate it," Victus answered, giving an approving nod in Garrus' direction.

Shepard frowned, not used to being so easily blown off, and took a few steps forward, re-inserting herself into Victus' direct line of sight. "General, you're needed off-planet," she told him firmly. "I've come to get you."

Victus gave a short, sharp huff of breath, turning his gaze away from Shepard once more, and her fist clenched in frustration at her side, but she said nothing, feeling that her annoyance at his dismissive actions might just be self-conscious paranoia. She always did feel out-militarized, almost offput, by turians, and this _was_ their homeworld, or close to it—they ran the show here, so the way they acted was their own business. Still, she could not help but feel that he was doing it intentionally to get on her nerves. "It will take something beyond important for me to leave my men or my turian brothers and sisters in their fight," he informed her, looking back at her with an almost trivializing air, as if she were ignorant for even suggesting it.

"Fedorian was killed," Garrus chimed in then, causing the General to look up at him, startled. "You're the new Primarch."

"What…?" Victus asked.

"You're needed immediately to chair a summit and represent your people in the fight against the Reapers," Shepard added, and this time, the General seemed too surprised to remember not to look at her.

For a long moment the newly-instated Primarch was silent, staring first at Shepard, then at Garrus, and then finally at the ground, overwhelmed. Then, looking up again, he started forward, moving past Shepard and causing her to have to step out of the way to admit him passage. Striding to the edge of the rock outcropping his makeshift outpost had been fixed on, the turian seemed almost to drag his feet as he walked, until he finally came to a complete standstill, his sharp frame silouhetted, black, against the dying red light emanating from the ruined glow of his home planet. Shepard and Garrus glanced at one another, exchanging worried glances, before turning their attention back to the now-Primarch as he stood, seemingly frozen in place, staring up at the ruined face of Palaven, his home, its dark face stained with the fiery blood of failure.

"I'm… Primarch of Palaven?" Victus finally breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Negotiating for the turian hierarchy…?"

"Yes," Shepard answered simply.

Victus hesitated again, continuing to stare in disbelief up at Palaven, looming over them in the night sky like a watchful protector, as the weight of the truth finally began to sink in on him. Then, turning back towards the two soldiers standing behind him, he stared at them for a long moment, his expression difficult to read, before finally starting to walk back towards them, his gait practiced and uneasy, but still notably proud as ever. "I've spent my whole life in the military," he said, addressing Shepard directly for the first time, a strange hint of animosity in his voice. "I'm no diplomat. I _hate_ diplomats."

At this, Shepard frowned, noting the hardened bitterness in his tone, and for a moment she had no idea what to say in response. It was an odd realization – most people in his position would have been honoured that they had been asked to perform such an important duty. It meant that his people looked up to him to provide a vital and necessary political service for them, and trusted him to make the right choices that would benefit them, their families, and their livelihoods in the long run. Yet somehow, it almost seemed as if Victus resented her for bringing him this news at all. "What makes you think you're not qualified?" she asked, hoping that that was the issue, and not some sort of deep-set vendetta Victus had against politicians. It would certainly be to nobody's benefit to have a politician in the hot seat who resented his own authority.

"I'm not really a by-the-book kind of guy," Victus spat, sharp, now a much more obvious tenor of venom in his tone. "And I piss people off. My family's been military since the Unification War. War is my life – it's in my bones." He paused, his mandibles giving a few faint, thoughtful taps against his jaw, and lifted his chin, making the dim luminosity from the crude camp spotlights glint off of his white war paint, accentuating the hard outline of his face and the dark holes of his eyes. "That kind of passion is… deceptive," he finally added, looking indicatively down at Shepard as he spoke. "Can make you seem… reckless, when you're anything but."

"War is your resume," Shepard answered, ignoring the obvious dig at her own leadership methodologies. "In a time like this, we need leaders who have been through that hell."

"I like that," Victus replied. "You're right."

"And honestly, uniting these races may take as much strength as facing the Reapers," Shepard added, turning away from Victus and beginning to walk towards the other edge of the rock outcropping. A landscape of devastation and rubble lay spread out before her, the dust from the ruined moon still hanging thick in the air, a moment of death and destruction frozen in time in the moon's stagnant atmosphere. At these words, Victus lifted his chin, the same look of worry as before crossing his features as the thought of the Reapers returned to him, but Shepard drew his attention back with a wave of her hand, indicating outward towards the war-torn moonscape. "See this devastation, Primarch?" she asked. "Double that for Earth. I need an alliance – I _need_ the turian fleet."

Garrus turned his head, watching with rapt interest as Victus crossed to her before finally coming to stand before her, straight-backed and proud, but no longer arrogant. "Give me a moment to say goodbye to my men," he said. Then, turning away from her once more, Victus began to walk away, his gait slower than before, almost as if he were intentionally dragging his feet. Shepard could tell that this was no easy task for him, but at the same time she knew that there nothing was easy, when it came to war.

Garrus watched his superior's departure as well, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the regal turian's withdrawing back, and then, as soon as the newly-instated Primarch was out of earshot, he made his way to Shepard, a frustrated frown pinching the plates of his brows inward. "Without him down here, there's a good chance we lose this moon," he said, a touch of annoyance in his voice, almost as if he were speaking to a child about a poor grade.

"Without him up there, there's a good chance we lose _everything_ ," Shepard shot back, stabbing a finger in Garrus' direction. She knew that this was his home world and that losing it would be as devastating to him as losing Earth would be to her, but the fact of it was, as far as she could see, she was willing to look past her own desires in order to see the bigger picture, while he was still stubbornly stuck in the small frame.

Turning away from Shepard, Garrus took a few steps towards the edge of the rock outcropping, looking up towards the huge, mechanical monstrosity that had all but swallowed up the skyline, watching with a morbid, detached fascination as it slowly crawled across the landscape of Menae, destroying everything in its path. "Look at that," he said, his tone now oddly insistent, as if questioning whether Shepard had ever actually taken the opportunity to look at one of their imposing foes before. "And they want my opinion on how to stop it? Failed C-Sec officer, vigilante – and _I'm_ their expert advisor?"

At this, Shepard fell silent, staring out at the fractured horizon, her expression hard, unmoving, as she watched the Reaper make its slow progression across the moon's surface, the familiar noises of the laser and the telltale mechanical foghorn call muted in her ears, instead overpowered by the throbbing sound of her own heartbeat. Garrus turned, staring at her, his avian blue eyes searching her face, as if trying to read her expression for some sign, some indication of encouragement, or surrender, or determination, or _anything_ , but he was disappointed when he found nothing there. "Think you can win this thing, Shepard?" he asked, his voice quieter now, finally breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

Shepard turned, looking up at him now, an odd, tired determination in her expression. "Yeah," she said, the word leaving her lips in a tired sigh. It felt good to be able to talk to him truthfully, to let him know what she was unable to let on to others. She was Commander Shepard, and everyone looked up to her – but with that came the constant, crushing fear of making even one wrong move and ruining everything. With Garrus, it was different; he knew her reputation, but he saw her as a person, rather than as some unattainable idol, and it felt good to be able to not have to try to be anything but human around him. "I dunno, Garrus," she told him. "But I'm sure as hell gonna give it my best shot."

"I'm damn sure nobody else can do it," Garrus was quick to reply, turning to face her again, this time with an air of almost startling positivity. It seemed he had just been waiting for some confirmation from Shepard that she still had her head in the game, and now that he had that, he was all in to follow her to hell and back. "For whatever it's worth, I'm with you."

At this, Shepard smiled, and, taking a step forward, she offered her hand to Garrus, who eagerly took it, giving it a hearty soldier's shake. "Welcome aboard," Shepard told him, a hint of friendly sarcasm in her tone. Then, hearing the sound of solemn, approaching footsteps, she turned, watching as the new Primarch climbed the gentle rocky slope up towards the bolted pergola, and, now with a new confidence in her mannerism, she offered him a friendly, reassuring half-smile as well.

"Ready to go, Primarch Victus?" she asked.

At the sound of his name, Victus turned, looking over towards Shepard, and, looking thoroughly unamused at her newfound buoyancy, he made his way towards her, until finally he stood in front of her once more, looming over her as he looked down at her, stern. "One thing," he answered, his voice stiff. "Commander, I appreciate your need for our fleets, but I can't spare them. Not while my world is burning." He turned his head, looking out towards the burning face of Palaven, as if for extra emphasis. "But…" he added, an expectant tenor in his voice, making it clear that it had been his intention to ask this favour all along. "If the pressure could be taken off Palaven…"

Shepard frowned, the good humour of before leaving her as she took a step backward, moving out of Victus' imposing shadow. "That's a pretty tall order," she told him, flatly.

"We need the krogan," Victus insisted, taking another step towards her as he fixed his hard gaze on her, a note of stern determination entering his voice, as if he refused to be deterred from his decision. "I can't see us winning this war without them. Get them to help us, and then we can help you."

At this, Shepard made a face. "The krogan…" she mused, her gaze drifting from Victus as she turned the thought over and over in her mind, trying to figure out if there were any easy way to get it done, but as always, none came to mind. There were no easy outs when it came to war.

"Looks like your summit just got a lot more interesting," Garrus quipped.

* * *

"The asari have been down this road before, Commander Shepard," Tevos said, her motherly voice taking on an almost scolding quality as she addressed the human Spectre.

Shepard had never enjoyed speaking with the asari councillor, and she had to figure that this was probably why. The woman had a custom of talking down to everyone she spoke to, almost as if she were addressing children rather than full-grown adults who were perfectly capable of holding their own, and though the Commander knew that this mannerism was probably unintentional, it still had a bad habit of rubbing her the wrong way. "But Madame Councillor," Shepard argued, trying her hardest to get a word in edgewise despite knowing that it was likely futile, "let me—"

"I tried to smooth things over with the salarian dalatross," Tevos went on, completely brushing off anything Shepard might have had to say on the matter. "To say she is upset would be a _monumental_ understatement."

Taking a step forward towards the vidcomm display, Shepard held out an agitated hand towards the hologram of the asari councillor. It was probably for the best that they communicated this way, she figured – being on the other end of a communication device millions of miles away meant that there was no danger of her lashing out at Tevos in frustration, though she was not certain she could have controlled her temper if the councillor had addressed her in such a trivializing way in person. "Some of these issues are hundreds of years old!" she argued, making an irritated downward motion with her hand. "It's time to let go!"

"Sad to say, but any effort to ally these disparate groups seems doomed to failure," Tevos answered, calm and collected as ever, seeming utterly unmoved by the Commander's passionate show. "And I'm sure you understand that we cannot afford to waste time with the Reapers knocking at our door." She paused, as if expecting Shepard to say something else, before taking a deep breath and retrieving her hands from where they had been folded behind her back. "This must be my final word," she said, her tone hard and finalistic. "I'm sorry, but the asari will not be at your summit."

"Our alliance would be stronger with the krogan!" Shepard insisted, jerking a thumb back towards the adjoining war room, where, while there were no krogan present at that moment, she knew that there would soon be. "You need them – we _all_ do!"

"I wish you luck, Commander," Tevos replied, not even bothering to respond to Shepard's argument. "Goodbye." And with that, her signal faded out, leaving Shepard standing alone in the vidcomm room, looking like a desperate fool. Scoffing in disgust, Shepard turned, waving a dismissive hand towards the spot where Tevos' double had once stood, but, as she started to leave the vidcomm portal towards the war room, she did not get very far before she found her efforts interrupted.

"Commander," Samantha Traynor's chipper, accented voice come on over the intercom, causing Shepard to glance upwards, as if looking for the source. "Admiral Hackett is available on vidcomm."

For a moment, Shepard paused, considering faking a busy schedule to get out of talking with the Admiral. She had had just about enough of authority figures giving her the run-around that day, between Primarch Victus' blatant disregard for her and Tevos' stubborn refusal to hear her sound arguments out, but she figured that, considering the situation they all found themselves in with the Reapers all but knocking at their doors, no matter how worn out she was, keeping the Admiral waiting would likely do more harm than good. Turning back towards the vidcomm platform, she pressed a finger to the flashing Alliance symbol on the display panel, and, barely a moment later, Hackett's stern, straight-backed form flickered into glowing blue life.

"Commander," he said, wasting no time in engaging her as he folded his hands sternly behind his back, drawing himself together into the picture of militaristic professionalism. "Have you retrieved the Primarch for your summit?"

"Yes, sir," Shepard answered, giving a curt, assuring nod, before making a face and adding, "but the asari are staying on the sidelines."

"They'll regret that," Hackett replied, seeming dissatisfied but not particularly surprised. "The time for unity is _now_."

"The salarians will be there, though," Shepard told him, a note of lingering hesitation in her voice, as if she were not sure admitting this would be altogether beneficial to her cause. Though intelligent, the salarians had never been the most reliable of allies, nor the most cooperative.

At this, Hackett's lined brow furrowed into a look of faint concern. "You don't sound very optimistic," he commented.

"We expect the krogan will be joining us, too," Shepard clarified, taking a step backwards. It took all her willpower not to wring her hands in his presence; the way he talked always made her nervous, like he was constantly evaluating her performance.

"I see," Hackett replied, his deep voice lingering in thought as his gaze shifted to one side, pensive. This thoughtful pause lasted only a moment, however, before his attention returned to Shepard again, all business once more. "Well then, you've got your hands full, Commander," he told her. "Was there something else you needed to discuss?"

Shepard hesitated, one hand playing anxiously with the edge of her uniform. She had a thousand questions she wanted to ask him – how her mother was doing, if he had heard from Anderson, what kind of weapon the Alliance was working on from the Prothean data they had managed to uncover. But she knew that all of those things would have to wait, as the Admiral had only limited time before he would inevitably be pulled back into the thick of the fray. It was where he thrived, and though he was always painstakingly professional during his talks with Shepard, his curt way of speaking and down-to-business attitude always betrayed a veiled annoyance at having to suffer through these instances of talk over action.

"How do you see us winning this war, Admiral?" she finally asked, figuring it was probably the most direct question she could possibly voice at this point in time.

"By making you the tip of the spear," Hackett was quick to answer, pointing a hologram finger at her.

Shepard frowned, taking a step back, and wet her lips, choosing her next words wisely. "I'm flattered," she finally said, offering up her hands, palms-up, in civil disagreement, "but the Normandy is just one ship."

"And a fast one," Hackett was quick to point out. "You can move quickly, hit a target, and leave before the enemy has time to react."

Shepard made a face, crossing her arms across her chest. "It's an advantage," she conceded. "But can it win a war?"

Hackett frowned, his wrinkled brow drawing into a hard, irritated line, his thin lips pursing. "It's the larger principle that matters," he answered, now starting to sound almost annoyed at her counterpoints, however relevant. "We'll never defeat the Reapers in a full-frontal assault, Shepard. The battle against Sovereign three years ago took everything we had, and that was just one Reaper."

"I haven't forgotten," Shepard assured him.

"So I'll find their soft spots, avoid them where they're strong, and hit them where they're not," Hackett continued, resolute. "And when I find gaps in the armour, I'll hammer them with every soldier, ship and bullet we've got."

Shepard hesitated, made suddenly uneasy by the amount of determination with which Hackett seemed to be laying out his far-reaching war plans. There was no doubt in her mind that he knew what he was doing – he was an expert when it came to strategy, and a genius in the art of war – but she knew the Reapers much better than he did, and she knew that it would take more than sheer willpower to take out these seemingly ageless destroyers of worlds. "How long can we keep that up?" she asked, hearing too late the note of hesitation in her own voice and hoping Hackett would not pick up on it.

"As long as it takes," Hackett replied, frank. He took a step back, and for the first time Shepard noticed something almost mirroring her own concern come over his gruff, grizzled face. "The reality is, Shepard, everything I'm doing is a delaying action for you," he went on, and there was something more temperate in his voice when he spoke now, something that could almost be interpreted as uncertainty, but Shepard knew him too well to suspect that he might be beginning to doubt himself now, at the eleventh hour, after he and the Alliance had put so much time and energy into perfecting their war effort. It was unlike him to let on any semblance of human fear and doubt, but at the same time she realized that, like her, that was all that Hackett really was, in the end – human. "I'm buying us time, keeping us in the game, while you gather what we need for this Prothean device. So keep at it."

"Any updates on Cerberus?" Shepard asked, quick to change the subject. She did not want him to realize that she had caught on to his note of uncharacteristic anxiety, or to give him time to dwell on that gnawing concern. He had his pride, an infallible predominance, and she was not about to take that away from him for one fleeting moment's worth of mortal trepidation.

"They're still the wildcard here," Hackett answered, crossing his arms and falling quickly back into his usual, hard-nosed stride. "Hitting the archives on Mars suggests they're after the same thing we are – a way to defeat the Reapers."

"It didn't seem as if the Illusive Man was suggesting we appease them," Shepard observed, her brows drawing together in thought as she ground the toe of one heavy boot distractedly into the comm room floor. "Not like Saren did. You'd think we'd be on the same side now more than ever."

"Cerberus has never played by the rules as we know them," Hackett contended, unfolding his arms as his bushy grey brows drew together into a hard, lined frown. Shaking his head then, he drew his hand in a sharp downwards motion through the air, showing his disapproval of the radical pro-human terrorist group. "I don't know what their agenda is, but it has _nothing_ to do with humanity's best interests," he said.

"The Illusive Man talked about controlling the Reapers," Shepard offered, remembering the talks the self-important chain-smoker had drilled into her head again and again during the time she had worked under his less-than-willing service. "He seemed to think that's how we win this."

"He's wrong," Hackett was quick to contradict her. "Dead Reapers are how we win this."

"Doesn't mean he won't try," Shepard replied, deadpan.

"I saw your report on that Cerberus soldier you found on Mars," Hackett went on, seemingly ignoring her sardonic interjection. "If the Illusive Man is good at one thing, it's finding new ways to subvert science. It's never worked for him before, and it won't now." Falling silent, Hackett stared at Shepard for another moment, before reaching up a hand to stroke absentmindedly at his close-trimmed grey beard, thoughtful, his hard blue eyes narrowing faintly as he stared Shepard down. Shepard could almost feel herself start to sweat under his scrutiny, and it took every ounce of resolve she had not to fidget under his gaze. "Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, Commander?" Hackett finally asked, letting his hand fall back to his side as he broke the uncomfortable, drawn-out silence.

"Nothing more, Sir," Shepard was quick to answer, trying her hardest to stifle a breath of relief that their conversation was drawing to a close.

"All right," Hackett consented, giving another curt, militaristic nod of his head. "Keep me posted. Hackett out." And with that, he was gone, his holographic likeness flickering out of sight, leaving the vidcomm pit empty once more.

Turning away from the vidcomm pit, Shepard moved to the door of the comm room, her stride steady and even to alert the pressure sensor to open the door and let her pass. When Cerberus had had control of the SR2, the doors had run on an automatic motion-sensing technology, but when the Alliance had reclaimed the ship from Cerberus' posession, they had re-wired it with their own technology to avoid any residual Cerberus tech from corrupting their systems. Though they claimed to have put the Normandy back together with the same functionality it had possessed while under the colours of Cerberus, Shepard still found its new pressure-sensitive systems to be, unfortunately, somewhat buggy from time to time.

When she had first come back aboard after her prolonged suspension onshore, she had more than once forgotten that the ship no longer ran on the systems that Cerberus had used, and, unfortunately for her, the most common side effect of these lapses in memory was a tendency to forget to allow the pressure sensors in the floor enough time to send a signal to the doors, and running face-first into said doors as a result. She was only glad her old friend Karin Chakwas was not there to witness her shame, or she might never have been able to live the residual bruising down.

The newly-instated Primarch Victus stood before the war board, his avian yellow eyes fixed on the glowing display with a sort of detached hunger, as if he were looking through the board, rather than at it. His posture was rigid, making him seem almost statuesque as he loomed, tall and dark, over the holographic displays, watching as numbers that might as well have been meaningless flashed before his eyes. Approaching the Primarch, Shepard stood in silence for a moment, not wanting to disturb him, but it did not take long for him to turn his eyes to her anyway, his gaze hollow as he tried to hide the obvious insecurity he still felt in his newfound role behind a mask of stone.

"Commander," he said, his tone almost stiflingly civil. "Thank you for allowing me the use of your ship. And for going along with this plan." He paused a moment, thoughtful, before adding, "Garrus said he had to attend to the Normandy's weapons systems. Something about… calibrations."

Shepard smiled, surprised by how pacified even just the mention of Garrus made her feel, and gave a soft, familiar laugh at the well-worked phrase. "Sounds like Garrus," she replied. Then, the smile fading from her face, she took a long, deep breath before coming to stand beside the Primarch at the war board, letting her thin hands come to rest on the thick metal bar that ringed the lit-up table like an overlarge handrail. "I'm sorry to say the asari councillor won't be joining us," she finally said, her voice lower and more solemn. "She thinks there's too much bad blood with the krogan."

Victus took a deep breath, his black-and-yellow eyes moving back towards the war board, before finally letting his breath out in a long, inevitable sigh. "She may be right," he admitted, a faint note of near capitulation in his voice. Then, turning to look at Shepard again, he fixed her with a grave, rigid stare. "But there will be a lot more blood – real blood – if we don't try," he told her, his tone hard and determined.

"Well, when you put it that way…" Shepard commented, only half joking. The Primarch's point of view on the matter seemed a bit extreme, but at the same time she had to admit that he had a point – the council races had a bad habit of exacerbating conflicts to the point of suffocation, and then trying to resolve them on the field of battle rather than with civil constitution.

Instead of being uplifted by her buoyant tone, however, Victus' mouth drew into a hard line, and he frowned, his mandibles gave one sharp, unamused tic against the taper of his chin. "The sooner we have this summit," he answered flatly, completely disregarding Shepard's attempt at humour, "the sooner we'll know."

Not knowing what else could be said to this, Shepard clenched her teeth, feeling her posture beginning to tense as a long, heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the soft, periodic beeps being emitted by the war board. The hologram image of the first, sparse shreds of progress being made on the mysterious prothean weapon spun slowly in the middle of the table, wordlessly mocking them, and Shepard could not help but feel it as a personal attack. The atmosphere in the room felt almost as if a tangible wall had been erected between herself and the Primarch, and they were arguing blindly from either side of it. She had never sought to disillusion herself about the Primarch's level of cooperation; she had known from the start that dealing with him was going to be a struggle.

However, the more he fought with her on small, trivial things like this – the more he _intentionally_ pushed her buttons for the single reason that she was someone that he perhaps felt outranked, and therefore threatened, by – the less inclined she became to want to include him when the big, galaxy-changing wartime decisions were finally starting to be made. But she knew all too well that, until the war summit actually came to pass and she got the full assistance of Victus' men, allowing him to talk down to her seemed like her only option. But that still did not mean she had to like it.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" Victus asked, cutting through the stifling silence, and the barely-masked derision in his voice was so tightly wound that Shepard could have strangled him with it. Instead, however, she merely took a step back, rocking onto the ball of her back foot in a thoughtful perch as she met his gaze, considering him.

"How are things on Palaven?" she finally inquired, hoping that by changing the subject, she might be able to make a dent in his foul manner. With any luck, being presented with something he seemed much more interested in talking about would allow Victus to unload on her about his insecurities about his home planet, thus making him, hopefully, more receptive to the struggles of others who were going through similar, if not exactly the same, hardships. It was a long shot, but one Shepard figured was just as much worth pursuing as any other. Victus, however, did not seem to be very interested in changing much of anything for her consideration; raising his chin proudly, he stared down his ridged nose at her, his hard yellow eyes half-lidded, something almost arrogant in his demeanour as he took an intentionally audible breath, before speaking.

"The casualty reports are staggering," he told her, his tenor as cut-and-dry as Hackett's, almost as if he were reading off a cue card rather than addressing her personally. "The Reapers are using our own tactics against us – destroy the enemy with overwhelming force."

"I've seen the same on Earth," Shepard answered, returning the militaristic tone.

"The strategist in me admires their brutality," Victus commented offhandedly, attempting to continue in the same vein, before finally giving up and returning to the same cold, accusatory tone as before to add, "The turian in me knows I'm watching the destruction of fifteen thousand years of civilization. …My civilization."

"And how is it, being the Primarch?" Shepard asked, perhaps a bit too quickly, attempting once more to change the subject to something he would be more receptive to. However, from the look of disapproval that crossed his face at this question, she could instantly tell that, once again, she had made a mistake in her topic of choice.

"Not what I imagined," Victus admitted, his tone harsh. Rather than being pacified by her attempts to steer the conversation in a different direction, the change of subject only appeared to rile his temper even more; his yellow eyes flashed indignantly, his mandibles giving a few angry pulses against his jawline as he stared down incredulously at the woman before him. "The battle of all time is happening on Palaven, and I'm lightyears away, reading casualty reports in the millions," he spat. "If I'm going to die, I want to be with my men so there's no doubt we fought to the last soul."

Falling silent again, Shepard crossed her arms, trying to think on her feet as to how she could remedy the situation, which had, despite her best efforts, inexplicably continued to slide downhill from bad to worse. She stared at Victus, watching him as he spoke, feeling her own ire beginning to build, a burning sense of defiance forming in the pit of her stomach the more he talked about Palaven and the war he had left behind there. For one fleeting second, she felt the bleeding desire to hit him, to cut him off, to put him in his place, but instead she held her tongue, allowing him to finish, and, once he was done, she simply continued to stare at him for another long moment, allowing a wave of wire-thin silence to fall between them. Then, taking a deep breath, she held it, calculated, before finally letting it out in a long, slow, calm exhale and looking up at him once more, meeting his avian yellow eyes with her own determined green ones.

"I understand," she told him, her voice calm and sincere. She paused, allowing the levity of the statement to sink in, before letting her gaze fall from his face to the glowing war board, thoughtful and sad. "Leaving Earth to save it… it's one of the hardest things I've ever done."

For a long moment following this statement, Victus could only stare at Shepard, seeming, for an instant, to have been caught off-guard by her sudden shift in tone. Then, slowly, his stern expression began to clear, the plates of his brows sliding smoothly away from each other as the agitated grinding of his mandibles slowed to a gentle, patient hover. "I'm not surprised," he answered, his voice markedly calmer than it had been only moments earlier. "Garrus speaks highly of you. You never asked to be a leader, yet your people will die if you refuse." Another long silence fell between them, but, unlike the last few, this one seemed positive – cleansing, almost – as if the silence alone had allowed a great weight to be wordlessly lifted from their shoulders.

"We find ourselves in similar circumstances," Victus finally told her, straightening his bearing and folding his hands neatly behind his back. His posture was rigid and militaristic, but this time, there was nothing derogatory about the way he held himself. He spoke with a tone of candour, not derision, and for the first time, he looked her straight in the eyes, addressing her as his equal. "Let's hope the spirits grant us the strength to see it through."

"I understand this is a difficult time for you, Primarch," Shepard replied, solemn but kind. "But Earth can't survive without reinforcements. Can I still count on your help?"

Victus stared at her for another stretch, his hard, yellow gaze unwavering. Then, finally, clearing his throat, he gave her a gentle, reassuring bob of his plated head, agreeing with her for the first time since their meeting on the burning plains of Menae. "If the krogan help us on Palaven," he answered, his voice quieter, almost seeming to stretch out the hypothetical to make sure Shepard understood every syllable, "then I give you my word."

Returning the nod of understanding, Shepard shifted her weight to her second foot, allowing her posture to relax. She recognized that while she may not have gotten very far with the Primarch on a sociable front, they at least appeared to be on the same page, diplomatically speaking.

"Thank you, Primarch," she said. "My thoughts are with Palaven."

Victus nodded again, as if to seal the deal, and, for the first time since leaving Menae, he seemed to be almost at ease. "And mine with Earth," he replied, quietly.


	2. DAY ZERO

The door of the main gun battery hissed as the pressure sensors responded to the weight of Shepard's footfalls, sliding open easily to allow her access. As soon as they did, the smooth, honeyed sound of a familiar voice wafted out, filling what had once been empty space surrounding her with a warm, buzzing baritone. Garrus never raised his voice when he spoke; he never had to. The soothing, authoritarian quality of his tone was so naturally rich that he could garner and hold the attention of every person in a room just by clearing his throat once. Still, though she could not yet make out what was being said or what the conversation was about, she could tell by the sheer quality of his voice that it was more than likely something having to do with the war.

Standing there in the doorway of the gun battery, listening to the voice she was so used to being carefree and sarcastic speaking in hushed tones about strategies of war, it suddenly dawned on Shepard, almost as if for the first time, just how many of the people she cared about were actually involved in this atrocity, and for a moment she could not help but feel the inexplicable urge to wrap herself up in Garrus' voice like a comforting blanket and forget about the world for a while. But, like everyone else in this war, she had a role to play, and her role was too important to abandon for the sake of impulsive sentimentality. Inching closer towards where Garrus stood, she watched from a short distance as he worked, conversing with an unknown person over a headset so as to leave his hands free to tinker with the Normandy's gun controls.

"Two of our dreadnaughts have been lost in a matter of hours," Garrus' contact reported over the headset, loud enough for Shepard to hear the words and easily identify the voice as belonging to Primarch Victus. She supposed Garrus had turned the volume of the headset way up so he would be able to hear it over the symphony of noises emanating from the ordnance, though they did not seem to be that loud to her – however, she supposed that being in closer proximity to them, as Garrus was, probably made a significant difference in the noise level, so she said nothing, continuing to stand to the side in silence, allowing the two to continue their conversation uninterrupted.

"I know, Primarch," Garrus answered, giving a soft sigh of acknowledgement as he turned, glancing over towards the screen built into the side of the artillery unit. Catching a glimpse of something dark out of the corner of his eye, he looked up, spotting Shepard, and for a short moment he hesitated, seeming a bit surprised, before returning to his work, unruffled. "I'm seeing the same numbers, myself," he reported, still talking to the Primarch over the headset. "They don't look good."

"We have to turn this around, and fast," Victus told him, sounding grim, and Shepard could almost envision the look on his painted face as he said it. The Primarch was no easy turian to work with, but if anyone could navigate the ins and outs of his caustic personality to figure out how best to talk to him, she figured it would probably be Garrus.

"Well, you can trust Shepard, Sir," Garrus assured him, looking up at Shepard again, this time offering her a private, reassuring little smile. "If anybody can get the krogan to cooperate, it's her. She's an old friend of Urdnot Wrex."

"Let's just hope friendship still counts for something in this war," Victus muttered, to which Garrus gave a little frown, but, undeterred, he quickly recovered with a reassuring bob of his head, wordlessly letting Shepard know that, even if the Primarch had his own pessimistic doubts, Garrus' faith was still in her entirely.

"I'm sure it will, Sir," he told the Primarch. Then, lifting the headset up off his crest, he set it aside, turning to face Shepard, who by now had made her way down the stairs and into the lower belly of the battery, feeling the gratework floor vibrating a little under her feet from the lively thrum of the machines.

"Garrus!" she greeted him, smiling amicably as she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her warm, oversized jacket. "Didn't waste any time getting to work, I see."

"After what I've been through lately, calibrating a giant gun is a vacation," Garrus answered truthfully, turning his attention back to the machinery in front of him and picking up his tool once more. "Gives me something to focus on."

"We're gonna need you for more than your aim," Shepard told him, a more serious note entering her voice, though this one was more of worry, and less of sheer obligation. She almost felt guilty asking for his help on the Normandy – after all he had done for her, and all the two of them had been through together, she almost felt as if the work were beneath him. Still, he did it well, and he claimed to enjoy what he was doing when he worked on the guns, so she figured that as long as he kept telling her he was happy, she would keep blindly believing him.

"Oh, I'm ready for it," Garrus replied, stepping away from the panel and cocking one hip as he allowed Shepard his entire, undivided focus. "But I'm pretty sure we'll need giant guns – and lots of them."

"Can't argue with that," Shepard answered, shrugging her shoulders.

Garrus smirked in agreement, the gesture seeming almost uncomfortable. Then, shifting his weight uneasily between his heavy feet, he took a few uncertain steps forward, towards Shepard, closing the distance between them, his mandibles giving a few, uneasy jumps as he did so, conveying troubled thoughts that he could not quite figure out how to put into words. "Yeah," he finally said, dragging out the sound awkwardly as he tried to think of how to say what he wanted to come after it. "So… is this the part where we… shake hands? I wasn't sure about the protocol on reunions, or if you even still felt the same way about me." He paused a moment, thoughtful, and then lifted a hand to his face, his clawed fingers trailing across the roadmap of twisted, healed burns that charted the side of his face, and it was all Shepard could do not to reach out a hand and touch them with him.

"The scars are starting to fade," he commented, before lowering his voice seductively to add, "I remember they drove you wild." Shepard gave a soft, girlish breath of a laugh, saying nothing to exacerbate his silly behaviour, but at the same time making sure she did not do anything to put him off. She liked the attention he was giving her, liked his silly flirtations – and with everything that was on her mind at the moment, all the war, the politics, and the hardship, she felt a little bit of silly romantic distraction was well-deserved. "But I can go out and get all-new ones, if it will help," he added, pulling her back to reality.

"I haven't forgotten our time together," she assured him, offering him a sincere, almost coquettish smile.

Seeing this gesture of approval, Garrus tilted his head faintly, taking another eager step forward towards Shepard, and then another. "Well," he said, sounding significantly more self-assured, taking one last step before coming to stand barely inches away from her, standing tall over her. "I've been doing some more research on human customs. I didn't want to presume—" But he did not even get to the end of his sentence before Shepard shifted herself upward onto her toes, pressing a soft, tender kiss to his jagged mouth and effectively silencing his rambling speech. Settling back onto the balls of her feet, she smiled up at him, trying to hide the look of amusement at the expression on his face. Had it been possible for turians to blush, she knew he would have been blushing hard then, and she supposed he only had his genealogy to thank for sparing him the extra, adorable embarrassment.

"That's the protocol on reunions," she told him, her voice low and intimate. Then, reaching up a hand, she stroked the side of his face, the pad of her thumb sliding along the solid line of his mandible, her fingertips caressing his strong cheekbone, and Garrus gave a light, faintly embarrassed breath of a laugh, bowing his head ever so slightly into her touch.

"The vids mentioned it might go something like that," he admitted, his tone cool and forcibly dismissive as ever, but she could still hear the relieved awkwardness in his layered voice. "I had hoped it would – I mean, I didn't… know…"

Reaching forward, Shepard took his hands in her own, silencing him again as she looked down at their entwined forms, noting the scuffs and scarring that had worn down the exterior of his form-fitting gauntlets. "I can't promise how things will work out," she admitted, frank, though her voice still held the same low, tender tone of before. "Not with this war." Then, looking up into his face, she met his bright, avian blue gaze with her own sharp green one, and offered him a hopeful smile, countering the solemnness of before. "I missed you, Garrus," she told him. "I thought about you a lot."

"Glad to know my romantic, er, skills made an impression," Garrus answered, playing thoughtfully with her hands in his and purposefully ignoring the comment about their relationship not surviving the war. "Because it's going to take more than Reapers to come between this cross-species liaison."

Shepard gave another soft, fond chuckle, before finally retrieving her hands from his grasp. Garrus seemed disappointed for a moment, but said nothing, instead letting his hands fall respectfully back to his sides as she spoke. "Speaking of which, you said you're the expert advisor on Reapers now?" Shepard asked, arching one dark, sculpted brow, and at this, Garrus gave an uncomfortable grunt, taking a step back from Shepard as the romantic moment came to an abrupt halt.

"It's not as impressive as it sounds," he answered, his tone oddly dismissive, as if he was not quite comfortable talking about the whole arrangement just yet. "I ruffled some feathers, so they gave me a token title along with a token task force so I'd shut up." Turning away from her, he made his way towards a panel of lit-up switches on the wall of the battery, turning his full attention to them as if in an effort to distract Shepard from the conversation at hand, but Shepard merely smiled, amused by his somewhat endearing discomfort.

"How'd you manage that?" she asked, propping a hand on her hip with a playful smirk.

"Just followed your example, Shepard," Garrus answered honestly, shrugging one broad, armoured shoulder. "Yell loud enough and eventually somebody will come over to see what all the fuss is about." He paused, thoughtful, before giving a faint, dismissive toss of his fringed head. "Not that they'll do anything about it," he added, something almost bitter in his tone. Shepard knew all too well where that bitterness was coming from; she had felt it often enough, herself, but she also knew that if they were going to win this war, they would have to put their feelings of bitterness behind them for the good of the galaxy. A government slow to respond was better than one that never responded at all.

"Until hell shows up at their door," she added half-jokingly, giving a quick, indicative toss of her head. "Then they put you in charge."

Garrus laughed, the sound a hard, monosyllabic scoff, before giving an agreeing bob of his head and turning away from the panel of switches, starting back towards the main gunnery computer. "Not like the old days, is it?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder towards Shepard as he walked. "Rogue Spectre and C-Sec agent running and gunning outside the lines, making it up as we went along… we're actually respectable now." Rounding on the main computer, he tapped it a few times with one clawed finger, and instantly the translucent orange screen sprang to life, coded waves scrolling down the display faster than Shepard could make sense of them, but she supposed that was why Garrus was in charge of these functions, and not her.

"Yeah," Shepard agreed, moving up beside him at the controls and looking over the lines of text and symbols, only half of which she could identify. "I get the feeling that respect comes with a lot of sleepless nights." She fell silent, thoughtfully watching the lines of text roll down the computer screen until they finally slowed to their normal crawl. Then, looking up from the console, she turned, allowing her gaze to rest on the turian beside her once more. "I can't even count how many lives are counting on us, Garrus," she told him, her voice soft but grave.

Garrus was silent for a long moment, considering this, his mandibles moving in a slow, thoughtful tattoo against his pointed chin. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned, meeting Shepard's eyes and locking his gaze with hers, holding her stare. "Well," he said. "When things are looking grim – and I'm pretty sure they will – just remember…" He leaned in to her ear then, rustling her hair with his soft breath, and she could barely keep a fond hint of a smile from reaching her rouge lips. "We're in this together," he finished. He paused another moment, allowing the sentiment to sink in, before leaning back again, the corners of his jagged mouth suddenly sliding upwards into a puckish grin.

"And if it ends with both of us dying in a giant explosion taking out a Reaper," he added, turning away from her towards the computer console again, "remember I took the killshot." Then, leaning down to the touchscreen again, he focused in on it, thinking their conversation to be over. Under normal circumstances, Shepard knew that this would have constituted a cue for her to leave – whenever Garrus got caught up in his calibrations, trying to pull him away from them was usually a futile endeavour – but right now, she found herself not wanting to leave his company. She knew that standing there staring at him was not going to help him or anyone else get anything done, but she found that right now, she could not care less. She just wanted to look at him for a while, to admire the way the light from the consoles glinted off his crest, or the way the cast shadows of the battery played in his scars like some sort of sensual forecourt.

He really was a handsome turian, a fact she knew drove her mother crazy. It was not that Hannah had anything against turians, or any sort of aliens for that matter – it was that she could not quite wrap her head around the fact that her daughter found them to be actually more attractive than humans. Feeling Shepard's eyes on him then, Garrus lifted his head, glancing over towards her, and the plates of his brow drew together ever so slightly, his cat-like mouth forming a faint 'o' of surprise as he looked at her, countering her stare.

"Something else you want to talk about?" he asked, curious.

Finding herself pulled back into the moment, Shepard shook her head, realizing that she had all but zoned out before, lost in her thoughts. "No," she answered quickly. "That's all, for now." She paused, thoughtful, before taking a step towards him and adding with an almost playful sensuality, "At least, about the war. We've still got some… personal catching up to do."

"Well, you know where to find me," Garrus told her. "And this time – I got hold of the good stuff." Bending down at his console, he reached underneath it, dragging out a small box, from which he pulled a flashy blue bottle of liquor. Then, standing back to his full height, he let the bottle rest between his hands, showing it off as he took a mirroring step forward to meet her. "There are a few perks to being an expert Reaper advisor," he grinned.

Shepard smirked, reaching forward and hooking her first two fingers into the edge of his armour before pulling him forward, urging his face down to her level. "Deal," she murmured in his hear, before giving him a teasing kiss on the cheek. Then, letting her wandering fingers trail downward, she took his hand in hers, pulling him away from the gunnery controls, slowly at first, tempting him, and then more fervently as they neared the battery doors. Garrus could barely keep a knowing grin from overtaking his features as he allowed her to lead him onward, all but forgetting about his calibrations as the promise of personal catch-up time with the Commander drew ever more imminent.

Shepard's cabin was much barer than either of them remembered it being, but neither spared much thought to fret about it as the doors slid closed behind them with a knowing hiss. Shepard could hardly keep her mouth away from his as their fingers scrambled to blindly remove the armour that was now the only thing still standing between them. Her fingers deftly unlatched the clasp of his breast-plate, and with his help the hefty piece of armour was soon off his body and on the floor of her quarters. The bowl-like neckpiece was next to go, lifted up over his head and laid aside with the breastplate, and after that, the rest of the armour was quick to follow, until his heavy blue panoply lay in a discarded pile at the foot of her bed. Her casualwear soon joined it, their clothing a jumbled mess of boots, greaves and gauntlets that was quickly forgotten as she pressed him down onto the thin, military-issue bunk mattress, one strong leg sliding over his shape as she straddled him, a soft gasp of a giggle leaving her throat as she felt his hands on her hips, the rough, calloused texture of his fingers so alien, yet so exciting.

The soft scrape of his claws against her tender flesh was electrifying as she stretched her long, slender form over his, running her hands over every inch of his body and feeling as he did the same to her, his hands gliding up the length of her torso, tickling her ribcage as he worked to unclasp her bra before peeling it away from her pale, perky breasts. It never failed to amaze her how adept he was at that, despite having only three fingers to work with, where most men with five fingers to aid them often found the task unfathomably daunting. She gave a soft, approving moan of pleasure as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic waist of her panties, his claws leaving faint, raised lines of pink against her freckled skin as the dragged down her slender thighs, before another, louder moan left her as he tilted his head forward, his tapered tongue playing eagerly down the slit of her genitals.

Shepard slid forward, pushing herself along the rutted ridges of his chest-plates until her knees pressed down against the bedding at either side of his bony collar, her legs spread wide to accommodate the extra breadth of the appendage. Of reach and flexibility, the latter was her stronger suit—and with his long limps and agile tongue, she was only too happy to let him take the title of the first. His hands slid over the flesh of her strong, smooth thighs as he worked into the split of her legs, and Shepard reached down a hand, her fingers splaying as they came to rest on top of his head, moving with him as he worked, feeling the gentle rocking motion as he pressed against her, his serrated teeth scraped tenderly across the tender pink flesh, leaving a pricking, tingling sensation as they went.

"Yes…" she moaned, feeling her back arch with pleasure at the sensation. "Yes…" To some, the feeling of a turian mouth in their nether regions, of his teeth pricking at the sensitive skin, of his mandibles quivering and jerking against the edges of her pudenda, might have been offputting, but to Shepard, it was downright euphoric, and every time felt like a delicacy – no vibrator in existence could replicate the feeling of _so much_ going on down there. Once finished, Garrus lifted one of her legs up over his head, allowing both to slide smoothly off to one side as he pulled himself up the bed towards her, his mouth and sharp chin glittering with her residue. Shepard lifted a hand, pressing it to his wet mouth, before sliding it from there down the length of his throat, an eager shudder running down her spine at the softness of his skin.

The sleek reptilian texture was like the smoothness of a snake's scales after a fresh shed, the flesh of his neck thin and folded into itself like the gullet of a monitor lizard, and the threaded membranes pulsed excitedly under her touch. Leaving the sensation of his throat momentarily, her fingertips trailed over the ridge of his collar, making their way up the slope of the hard, bony orifice as it curved around his neck, coming to a rise at his back, until she found her hands behind his head. The fingers of one hand played against the tough, spiny tips of his crest, while the palm of the other caressed the warm, jagged line of overlapping scales that trailed down his neck before disappearing into the hollow of his collar.

Turian physiology was not at all the same as human's, a fact that never ceased to fascinate Shepard. On other species, she had found there to be an almost disappointing measure of similarity between their physiology and her own, making it less than adventurous to explore one another's bodies – Thane, especially, had been so disappointingly human once his clothes had been removed that she had almost lost her will to follow through. Turian physiology, on the other hand, she found utterly fascinating. Garrus' hips sloped out smoothly from his sides like saddle horns, perfect for gripping onto, the rough, plated surface of his groin and hips taut against the hard pelvic bone, and where she would usually find an exposed set of genitals on a human companion, he had a layered slit embedded into his sleek, bony pelvic region.

Though at first this intimate feature had looked startlingly similar to a human vulva, upon closer inspection, she had come to realize that it actually looked more like the folds of a set of human vocal cords, and much like the flaps of human vocal cords, the halves of the slit would open to admit the actual appendage to expose itself when the turian became aroused. This unusual evolutionary facet was a necessary precaution, she supposed, as the exterior of the turian member seemed to have only a very thin protective layer covering the muscles and veins, and so was more than likely extremely sensitive. Still, that never seemed to have stopped Garrus from being just as enthusiastic and effective a lover as any other, a fact which never ceased to surprise and thrill Shepard.

Now, the prepuce of his groin folded back as the internalized member pushed through, like the stamen of a flower, urged to attention with a sudden flow of blood, the blue veins pulsing against the tender, exposed flesh of the appendage. Tucking her hair out of the way behind one ear, Shepard leaned down, allowing the tip of her tongue to skate gently over the fragile membrane, feeling the veins under the thin skin give an excited throb at her touch. Then, gripping the sturdy frame of his hips, she closed her soft lips around the flesh of his adjunct, allowing her eyes to close as she began to gently slide her mouth up and down the length of the tapered, veiny shaft, feeling it pulse with excitement every time she moved.

Garrus moaned in delighted euphoria as she worked, his clawed hands twisting into the sheets of her bed, threatening to rip them. When her teeth gently scraped against the thin membrane of his filament, he gave a pained gasp, and one hand instantly moved to her head, his claws curling into her choppy red hair, moving with her as she moved. Realizing her error, Shepard moved more carefully against the delicate flesh, and she could feel his strong, plated thighs shudder with frenzy as she worked, assuring her that she was doing something right. Garrus gasped, leaning his head back against the headboard of the bed, the ridges of his crest scraping the plexiglass, threatening to leave a mark, but neither of them even seemed to notice. His grip on her hair tightened, and he gave a sharp, hiccupping moan as he opened his avian blue eyes, looking down at her and breathing heavily.

"Shepard," he warned.

Letting her tongue trail one final time up the length of his shaft, Shepard obeyed the unspoken warning, leaning back from his groin and lifting a hand to wipe her mouth. Mordin had warned them about the danger of ingesting, and thus far, even in the heat of passion, the two had done a commendable job of following his instructions, not wanting to test the consequences should they fail to comply. Pulling her way up his scaly and plated body, Shepard pressed her lips to his jagged mouth, kissing him, feeling the sensation of his pointed, bird-like tongue in her mouth, the way his mandibles pressed against her cheeks. The feeling of his mouth against hers was foreign and exciting, and she took the opportunity to run her tongue along the serrated line of his pointed teeth, her body giving a faint shudder at the sensation of danger it filled her with.

Giving a faint, urging push against her waist then, Garrus shifted his weight, rolling Shepard over onto her back and perching himself over her, his bright blue eyes taking in her strong, slender form with a familiar hunger. His rough, clawed hands slid up her thighs, parting them, before allowing each index to skate up the line of her pelvic bone, gliding over her hips before taking a firm, controlling grip on her waist, the pads of his thumbs pressing into her skin as she opened her legs, arching her back ever so faintly, exposing the soft flesh of her throat as she leaned her head back into her pillow, allowing her green eyes to flutter closed as she waited for the moment of penetration, and when it did come, she let out a sharp, animalistic noise of pleasure, halfway between a gasp and a shout.

Reaching back, she gripped her plexiglass headboard, securing herself in place as he heaved against her, inside her, and she moaned with pleasure as his mandibles rubbed up against the skin of her collar-bone, his lithe lips peppering soft, alien kisses across the line of her breast, his sharp teeth scraping the surface of her skin every so often, leaving tiny, faint scratches against her flesh that stung with her salty sweat, but the pain felt good, letting her know that she was alive. Shepard gasped as Garrus pushed inside her again and again, her fingers curling around the headboard of her bed, her physique tensing up before releasing with a licentious shudder. It did not take long for her muscles to start to become sore, but it was a good burn, the sort of pain that let her know that what she was doing was worth it, and she said nothing, instead allowing him to continue in the same way.

His hands gripped her hips, his claws digging into her skin, threatening to pierce the surface, and she gave another light, excited exclamation as he pushed inside her again, her heavy breathing in duet with his, his breath hot against her neck, against her cheek, his grunts of effort and pleasure in her ear causing her heart to race. "Garrus," she gasped, taking her hands from the headboard to slide them around his neck, the tendons of her hands flexed in ecstasy as she laced her fingers between the spines of his crest, her opposite hand gripping the bony rise of his collar as he gave another shuddering heave, causing her toes to curl into the covers of the bed in a fevered passion. His hands left her hips gripping the sheets of the bed, his claws puncturing through the soft fabric of the covers as he gave another thrust, this time accompanied by a shout of pleasure from Shepard as she threw back her head, her red hair plastered to her sweaty, freckled face.

"It's a good thing you aren't working for Cerberus anymore," Garrus joked, panting, as he gave another solid thrust inside of her. "Otherwise I might worry that we were being watched right now."

"Shut up and fuck me," Shepard breathed, only half-annoyed by his attempt at coitus humour. He always did this, and while it may have killed the mood the first time, she had grown used to corny attempts at making her laugh in the middle of sex. She could never really tell whether his dumb jokes actually helped or hindered her achievement of orgasm – although she had to admit that there had been no shortage of attempts to figure it out.

Garrus pushed inside her again, seeming only too happy to comply with her rather curt order. It was nothing out of the ordinary for the two to talk to one another this way—it was the way they joked, and as far as he was concerned, he would not have it any other way. He made her laugh, and she did the same, and that was all he ever really wanted out of life, apart from the mind-blowing sex, which seemed to come in the package deal with the wry sense of humour. No matter how amazing the sex was, however, both Garrus and Shepard were only too thankful that the foundations of Shepard's cabin sound-proofed it from the rest of the ship. That meant that no matter how loud and investigational they decided to get during their sessions, none of the other crew members had to know about it, which happily spared them the painfully knowing glances they would have undoubtedly gotten otherwise.

In order to hear their lovemaking, a member of the crew would have to be standing right outside the door of the cabin – which they figured, all things considered, was as good a deterrent as any to any do-gooders trying to deliver messages of war to the Commander when she was in her quarters and therefore clearly off the clock.

The bed rocked and creaked on its foundation, the plexiglass headboard thudding against the muted metal wall of the cabin as it made contact again and again in a frenzied, passioned pattern, and Shepard gave another exclamation of pleasure in time with it, feeling a gentle flourish of bruises begin to prickle across her back as the line of her shoulders beat against the headboard over and over in a passionate, almost hypnotic rhythm. Garrus never hurt her on purpose, not when he could help it – despite the severity of his species, and despite her best efforts to convince him otherwise, Garrus was a surprisingly gentle lover. Though he sometimes left raised white and pink lines on her skin from the use of his claws, he never broke it, and though he had been known to bite her sensually, he had never drawn blood. The extent of the severity of his zeal was bruising, often very faint, and even that took a good deal of passion and a fair amount of convincing from Shepard to accomplish.

She enjoyed getting rough in the bedroom – hair-pulling, biting, scratching, it was all fair game to her, but to Garrus, it felt almost like savagery, a fact which Shepard respected, albeit with a bit of halfheartedly-hidden disappointment.

Garrus grunted, leaning forward on his elbows as he pushed inside of her, rhythmic. Then, letting out a brusque huff of a chuckle, he pressed his nose to the side of her sweaty face, all but burying it in her hair as he spoke into her ear, low and short. "Almost time to stop," he told her. "Payload's…" He gave another grunt, this time bowing his head forward, pressing his face into the pillow beside her as he gave another thrust, this one slower than the last, feeling his body tense and shudder as he sought to hold everything in, but Shepard shook her head, wetting her lips as she did so, tasting the salty sweat as it beaded across her painted lips.

"No," she panted, reaching up a hand to run in back across the rough ridges of his crest, her hand coming to rest on the plated back of his neck as she rocked with him, letting his strong form move her. "Don't stop. Don't stop."

"Shepard," Garrus warned, giving another thrust, this one feeling almost forced.

"No, it's okay," Shepard answered, her breath leaving her in hard, sweaty gasps. "It's okay, I… I want you to do it. I want this."

"Shepard," Garrus warned again, a louder, more worried edge to his voice now as he pressed into her once more. He gripped the covers on either side of her, balling his hands into fists around the soft linen threads, and gave a short, soft grunt as a carnal shudder running up the length of his strong body. "Shepard, I don't think—"

"Do it," Shepard insisted, wrapping her arms around his plated ribcage, her nails digging into the ridges of his spine as she pressed her body against his, leaving a glimmering trail of sweat along the length of his torso. " _Do it_ , Garrus."

Garrus opened his mouth, prepared to argue again, to remind her of the repercussions they had been warned about regarding the contact of turian fluids and human internals, but he did not have time before he felt a rush, the throbbing pressure instantly lifting from his strong form as he let loose inside of her, his body giving a great shudder as he let out an exclamation, half of pleasure and half of worry, and at this, Shepard let out a loud, carnal exclamation, her thighs tensing as her back arched, her hands grasping onto the ridges of his spine as if for dear life, feeling as though an explosion of pleasure had just gone off in her head, filling her body down to her toes with a feeling of animalistic euphoria as she finally hit orgasm.

"YES!" she screamed, her hands sliding up his spine until her arms were wrapped around his strong, reptilian neck, the edges of the plating on the back of his neck pressing against her skin as she pulled him close. Still panting, now worn out, Garrus leaned down to her, pressing a weak line of kisses against her collar-bone, leading up her throat, before laying his head down against her chest. Shepard breathed out, holding his head close to her heart, gently stroking his face, his mandibles, his crest, her fingers exploring the grooves of his scars as she relaxed her body, allowing her toes to uncurl from the covers as she moved her form around his, sliding one of her legs between his, entwining them. Then, leaning down, she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, holding him close, savouring the last, lingering dregs of ecstasy.

"God," she breathed.

"Yeah," Garrus answered, his voice similarly quieter, tired out.

"That was… incredible," Shepard panted, pushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes with one free hand before returning it to his face, leaning down to give him another gentle, fond kiss. "Why have we never done that before?"

Garrus hesitated a moment, breathing heavily as he thought this over, before the corners of his serrated mouth suddenly curved upwards into a small, impish smirk. "Sexual activity normal stress release for humans and turians," he answered, mimicking the speech pattern of Mordin Solus. "Still, recommend caution. Warn of chafing—"

"Stop that," Shepard said, wrinkling up her nose as a wry, recognizing grin split her features.

"Turians based on dextro-amino acids," Garrus continued in the same nasal, clipped tone, the puckish grin widening on his jagged features as he nestled his head against her chest, a faint, purring chuckle vibrating against the folds of his throat as he teased her. "Human ingestion of tissue could provoke allergic reactions—"

"Stop ittt," Shepard laughed, playfully attempting to push his face away from her chest. " _Stooppp_."

Garrus chuckled as well, pulling himself back over to her. "Anaphylactic shock possible," he kept going, planting a small, light kiss on her cheek before nestling his head up under her chin. "So try not to _ingest_ —"

"Garrus," Shepard said, pushing herself up onto one elbow to look over at him with an expression of annoyed disapproval, though it was obvious from the smile she was trying hard to hide that his antics were tickling her.

"What," Garrus answered, playfully curt in return.

"Stop," she told him flatly.

"Okay," he replied, though the mischievousness in his tone made the statement difficult to believe.

"You're freaking me out," she told him.

"Okay," he answered again.

"I don't want to be sleeping with Mordin Solus," she said.

"Well, hey, I dunno," Garrus teased. "The guy's got some real sex appeal. If you're, y'know, into that. He probably drives the lady salarians wild with that devil-may-care, how's it…" He paused, thinking a moment, before starting up with his impression once more, "Sexual deviants may enjoy salarian flexibility. More cartilage in skeletal structure—"

"Garrus," Shepard said, her tone firm despite the smile she could not keep from her face, taking his head in her hands and pressing her forehead to his so that their eyes were focused only on each other's. "Stop."

"Okay," he said, grinning widely.

"I mean it," Shepard said.

"I got it," Garrus told her.

"You promise?" she asked.

"I promise," he answered. "No more sex ed."

"Good," Shepard said, and let go of his face, allowing him to nuzzle his head up under her chin again, sliding her leg closer to him with one foot. Garrus chuckled, the deep baritone of his two-toned voice soothing as his vocal cords vibrated and buzzed against her skin. Then, reaching one strong, scaled arm around her, he pulled her in towards him, letting her shift until the edge of her shape fit up perfectly against the line of his plates.

"Good," he repeated, finally closing his eyes. "Good."

* * *

The first thing Shepard realized when she opened her eyes again was that everything had gone dark.

A faint luminescent glow pulsed from the empty, bubbling fish-tank, but apart from that, no lights were on in her room, not even the dim ambient lights she always kept on, even when she slept. Sitting up in bed, she ran a hand back through her choppy red hair, letting out a sigh as she moved to the edge of the bed, allowing the covers slide from her strong, naked form. She could hear Garrus give a soft groan of protest when she moved, but he merely clutched the discarded covers closer to him, not bothering to wake up. A faint, fond smile touched Shepard's lips at the sight, but she quickly pushed the thought from her head, instead getting to her feet and padding quietly towards her personal telecommunication device.

Leaning forward, Shepard tapped the spacebar a few times with one inquisitive finger, but as she had expected, there was no response. The telecomm seemed to be out of operation as well. Frowning faintly, Shepard straightened, leaning one unimpressed hip against the back of her desk-chair, until the sudden sound of Joker's voice over the intercom system caused her to jump, pressing her hands across her breasts in a knee-jerk reaction in an attempt to hide them from view, even though she knew there was no way for Joker to see her over the intercom.

"Commander?" Joker asked, his voice sounding almost frantic. "EDI just went offline."

Shepard hesitated, taken aback by the abruptness of the problem, before finally managing to collect her nerves enough to respond. "What do you mean, 'offline'?" she asked, letting her hands drop back to her sides. By now Garrus had woken up as well, and sat upright in bed, blinking tiredly, as if still trying to convince himself to wake up entirely. Giving a wide, cat-like yawn, he watched with half-lidded eyes as Shepard started to move around the room, trying to find and gather up her scattered clothing, starting with her bra, which she fumbled with before managing to clip it into place. How the turian managed to get it off with so little difficulty when even she had to try two or three times to work the clasp, she would never know.

"I don't know," Joker answered, his voice clipped, clearly anxious now. "She's not responding and I can't access the AI Core diagnostics. You better get down to Deck Three."

"What's up?" Garrus asked, rubbing his eyes before pushing himself upright in bed, leaning back against the scratched and battered headboard. "Is it something important? Should I come, too?"

Pulling on her panties, Shepard made a face as she realized she had forgotten to wash between her legs, but then, realizing that there was no time to waste, she shook her head, continuing to throw on her clothes with a sense of almost desperate abandon. "No," she told him, pulling on her pants and hopping once before finally managing to get both legs through. "Just… stay here. I can handle this. It's just a bit of… electrical malfunction, nothing to…" Zipping and buttoning her pants, she bent then, quickly grabbing up her shirt and pulling it over her head, making her short red hair explode in a frazzled sunburst, which she quickly tamed by running her hands over it, the motion almost subconscious. "Plus, I don't want people to see us coming out of my cabin at the same time," she added, sitting down on the bed again as she started to pull on her socks, distracted. "I don't want them getting… ideas…"

"Like what?" Garrus asked, now fully awake, trying not to sound offended but ultimately failing. "Like that we're sleeping together? People already know we're a couple, Shepard, it's not like it's some huge deal for them to see us together."

"I know," Shepard told him, pulling on one of her boots and quickly lacing it up before starting on the other. "It's just, there's a difference between people _knowing_ we're sleeping together and us… flaunting it, you know?" Finished with her boots, Shepard got to her feet again, grabbing her jacket up off the floor of the cabin and pulling it on around her shoulders. "I mean, just because I enjoy building model ships doesn't mean I walk around with one around my neck, you see what I'm saying?" she asked, zipping up the front of the jacket. "You can do something and enjoy doing it without having to rub it in other peoples' faces."

"I didn't realize you felt the same way about us as you did about model ships," Garrus answered, deadpan.

"Can we talk about this later?" Shepard asked, making a face as she turned to face him, now fully dressed. "I've got an AI problem to take care of right now, but this is clearly something you feel we need to talk about in more detail."

"Well, yeah," Garrus scoffed, seeming almost disgustedly surprised at her dismissive tone. "I mean, I know you're busy with the Reaper War and everything, but I—"

"Great," Shepard said, cutting him off. "We'll talk about this later, then." And with that, she turned, hardly even noticing the expression of shock on her turian companion's face as she made her way to the door of the cabin and let herself out.

Because the electrical systems were down on the ship, that meant the elevator was out of order as well, which meant that the only way to get from floor to floor was to take the stairs. Shepard's mother had always preached to her about not taking old technology for granted, because, as Hannah put it, everything that had successfully survived this far into the progression of man had to have a use, no matter how unnecessary it might seem, at first, to the casual onlooker. The stairs of the Normandy had never been Shepard's favourite way to get around the ship – they were cramped and far too close together, built for the convenience of other species more than for that of humans – but now that she actually needed them, she supposed it was a good thing Cerberus had decided to install them into the updated model, nonetheless.

Finally reaching the third floor of the ship, Shepard quickly made her way to the doors of the AI Core, slowing her pace as she drew closer, taking caution not to startle the two crewmembers who already stood guard there, each one holding what appeared to be a fire extinguisher. "What's going on here?" Shepard asked, turning to the first crewman and stifling a yawn.

"Automated systems have the fires contained," the crewman answered, shifting the weight of the manual fire extinguisher between his hands. "It should be safe to enter."

"We'll follow your lead," the second crewman added.

Shepard turned, glancing back at the second crewman, and noted for the first time that both crewmembers were wearing strap-on breathing masks. It was a smart precaution, but not one she had the time to go looking for. Suddenly, a heavy thumping noise reached her ears, accompanied by the rushing sound of some sort of high-pressure gas being released, and all three standing outside the AI Core took a surprised step back. Frowning worriedly, Shepard reached up a hand to her in-ear comm device, pressing two fingers to the microphone button as she took another step away from the heavy, automated door.

"Joker, what's that sound?" she asked, her green eyes trailing up and down the length of the door, as if expecting noxious gas to leak through the cracks at any moment.

"Fire extinguishers, Commander," Joker answered curtly. "Could be an electrical fire, or… something."

Giving a comprehending nod, Shepard dropped her hand from her ear, turning back to the heavy door of the AI core, and indicated the crewmen towards the electronic lock. At her signal, one of the crewmen stepped forward, passing his omni-tool over the red hologram lock-panel, and instantly unlocked it, causing it to flicker green. Shepard glanced between both crewman, noting the worried looks on their faces, before moving forward again, a reassured assertiveness in her step. "I'm going in," she announced. Then, taking another step forward, she allowed the automatic weight-sensitive module to kick in, opening the door of the AI Core, before she started into the room, her head held high, unafraid.

She was quickly stopped short, however, by a hazy wave of smoke bursting forth from the AI Core, washing over her and her two flanking crewmen in a cascade of blinding fog, and she had to shield her eyes to keep from being blinded by the sudden onslaught. Darting quickly past her into the AI Core, the first crewman sprayed a thick mist of anti-flammatory matter into the air, dismissing the worst of the smoke from their immediate vicinity, before turning back to Shepard and nodding to her, indicating that it was all clear for her to come inside. Moving in past the crewman again, Shepard covered her mouth and nose, keeping herself from inhaling smoke, and used her other hand to wave the thick haze away from her eyes, which were beginning to water.

"EDI?" she called, trying her best to stifle a dry cough. "Talk to me!" Looking around, she could barely make out the outline of the AI Core's consoles through the thick grey smoke that filled the room, but she took another step forward anyway, passing her hand in front of her face again in an attempt to clear her vision. "EDI?" she called again, and this time she was answered by a deep, humming noise which caused her to jump, only to realize that the sound was the hardware booting noisily back up.

Turning, Shepard watched as the bright blue lights that lined the metallic faces of the hub consoles began to flicker back on, one by one. Then, looking back into the heart of the AI Core again, she found that she could just barely make out what looked to be a glowing orange strip of light making its way through the smoke towards her and her crewmates, accompanied by the steady, curt _click, click, click_ of what sounded like stiletto heels. At the sound, the two crewmen took a cautionary step back, but Shepard merely peered into the steadily dissipating smoke that still lingered in the AI Core, passing her hand in front of her face once more in an attempt to clear her vision.

"EDI?" she asked again, squinting into the room to try to get a better view of whatever it was that was approaching her and her crewmates through the smoke. She did not have to wait long, however, before a figure stepped forth from the mist, the last of the lingering smoke rolling in tendrils off of her sleek, silver robotic body. She held her proud, angled head high, her painted eyes framed by what looked to be a glowing orange strip, a monitor or visor of some sort, and though her hands dangled awkwardly at her sides, as if she had not yet found an appropriate use for them yet, she still seemed to have already developed a sort of catwalk-eque grace in her mannerisms as she came to stand before Shepard and her two crewmates, balanced effortlessly on the tapered heels of her built-in stilettos.

"Is there a particular topic you wish to discuss, Shepard?" EDI's smooth voice questioned, seeming completely unfazed by the supposed electrical fire in the AI Core, or her short instance of dysfunctionality.

Instantly, one of the two crewmen who had entered the AI Core moved forward, his posture almost crouched as he pointed his Carnifex at the stranger, ready to take her out at a word from his Commander. Shepard opened her mouth, prepared to say something in response to the AI's oblivious question, but found that no words would come out, and so quickly closed her mouth again instead. She had gotten so used to hearing the cool female voice of the AI coming from the overhead speaker system, from seemingly everywhere and nowhere at the same time, that to hear it now coming from this compact being, to be able to put a face to the voice she had gotten so accustomed to, was almost startling, and for a moment she had to pause to collect her senses.

"EDI," she finally said, surprised, unsure of what else there really was to say in the current situation.

"Yes?" asked EDI coolly. She appeared distracted now, lifting her hands and turning them over to inspect them, as if she was not quite used to them yet, and Shepard could not help but feel a knot beginning to form in her stomach as she watched the formerly bodiless AI casually exploring her newfound shape, though she was unsure whether her discomfort was being caused by the AI's oddly human characteristics or the fact that the body she had chosen to inhabit had been the same one that had very nearly taken the life of one of Shepard's oldest and dearest friends.

"You're in… Doctor Eva Coré's body," Shepard said, taking a few cautious steps forward towards the former AI and giving the robo-body a quick once-over.

"Not all of me," EDI answered simply, seeming satisfied with her inspection, and quickly shifted into a defensive stance, pulling her body into a rigid, straight-backed posture and crossing her arms loosely over her sleek chest, all but cradling her ample bust in the crooks of her arms. She almost seemed to be protecting her new prize from the Commander, as if she were afraid Shepard might try to take it away from her now that she had been discovered. "But I have control of it. It was… not a seamless transition."

Shepard frowned, irked by the curt self-righteousness of EDI's replies and her apparent unwillingness to openly answer questions. She seemed to be playing a strategy of minimal ripostes, giving only as much information as she needed to give to get by without revealing anything too important, and while the Commander understood that even AIs needed to be versed in the science of self-preservation, the fact that EDI could be so self-serving, especially when things were so uncertain not only aboard the Normandy, but everywhere else in the galaxy as well, made her angry. "A transition?" she demanded, allowing herself a bit of ire now that she knew that neither the Normandy nor its crew were in any immediate danger. "You blacked out on us for a while, there."

"Correct," EDI answered, detached as ever. "When we brought this unit on-board, I began a background process to search for its information on the Prothean device. This eventually triggered a trap – a backup power source and CPU activated, and the unit attempted physical confrontation." The AI turned her head, watching the second crewman as he worked, the axis of her neck twisting almost all the way around to the back as the stacked discs shifted in a circular motion, much like cogs, before she smoothly turned her attention back to Shepard, her cold silver eyes fixed on the Commander, unblinking. "Fortunately, I was able to gain root access and repurpose it as I saw fit," she added matter-of-factly. "During this process, it… struggled. Thus, the fire."

"EDI, you need to alert us about incidents like this," Shepard scolded, annoyed at the AI's cool, dismissive attitude towards the whole ordeal. "You shouldn't have done this alone."

"Bringing the crew up to speed would have been counterproductive," EDI replied, giving a cheeky little shift of her new hips and shoulders as she did so, and though Shepard was sure was just a side-effect of her getting accustomed to her new body, it nevertheless only served to irritate her even more than before. "All attempts to help would have been limited by reaction time."

Out of the corner of her eye, Shepard sensed movement, and, turning her head, she realized that one of the two crewmen who had entered the room with her had edged quietly forward, and was now taking a moment to curiously inspect the ship AI's new body. Throwing him a censorious look, Shepard watched as he quickly turned, his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs, and returned to his work of clearing the room of smoke. The other crewman still had not looked up from his own duties of accessing the ship's systems from a console in the corner of the AI core, working as fast as he could to turn off the ship's fire extinguishers. Then, turning back to EDI, Shepard pointed a curious finger at her, slitting her green eyes faintly at the still-unfamiliar femmebot casing.

"So if you're in there," Shepard said, her voice hesitant, "are you… still in the ship?"

"I exist primarily within the ship," EDI responded, her manner still totally matter-of-fact as she shifted back and forth on her new, shapely feet, barely even seeming to notice the curious and intrigued stares she was earning from the two crewmen standing behind Shepard. "For optimal control, this unit should remain within Normandy's broadcast or tight-beam range."

Shepard paused, taken aback, a faint line of a frown creasing her freckled brow as she stared EDI down. "Are you planning to take that body somewhere?" she asked, barely trying to hide the note of scepticism in her tone. Letting the headstrong AI have a tangible body, especially under such unusual and risky circumstances, was one thing, but giving her free reign to use said body to wander wherever she pleased outside the confines of the ship she was designed to help run – that was another thing entirely.

"Normandy's weaponry is not suited to every combat situation," EDI answered frankly, indicating with one hand towards the power grids lining the walls of the AI Core. "This platform could provide limited-fire ground support."

At this, Shepard looked up again, noting the clear strain of enticement with which EDI spoke of her newfound ability to help outside the confines of the Normandy, and had to keep herself from cracking an incredulous smile. She had to give it to the AI – if there was one thing she certainly did not lack for, it was confidence. "You mean, you could come with us?" the Commander asked, the waver of shock still not having faded from her stunned tone.

"Correct," EDI replied, curt and professional. "This body could accompany you to areas the Normandy could not reach."

Shepard sighed, shaking her head as she crossed her arms across her chest, shifting her weight onto her back foot and giving EDI one last once-over before fixing her with a hard, levelling stare. "Before we do that, I need you to guarantee this mech doesn't have _any_ more surprises in it," she told the AI. "Run whatever tests you can – then we can talk about using it in combat situations."

"One moment," EDI replied smoothly. "I am running trials." Going silent, the blank-eyed femmebot straightened her posture, allowing her hands to hang, straight-fingered, at her sides, as her head moved slowly from right to left. Then, looking back at Shepard again, she lifted her chin, seeming satisfied with herself. "Complete," she reported, cool and collected as ever. "I can send you a full report, if you wish. However, my first step should be restoring functionality to the Normandy, to reassure the crew that all is normal."

"Just… don't be surprised if the crew is a little wary of your… new body," Shepard told her, trying her hardest to sound concerned for the AI, but empathy had never been her strong suit, and, despite her best efforts, the words sounded awkward and forced. "It _was_ shooting at them a little while ago."

"An excellent point," EDI conceded, seeming less than put off by Shepard's candour. Then, hardly missing a beat, she added with what Shepard could only guess was her own, unusual brand of enthusiasm, "I will take it to the bridge. Joker will also want to see it."

"On that, we can agree," Shepard murmured, watching as the newly-able-bodied robot made her way, almost gleefully, towards the doors of the medibay, before finally disappearing around the corner of the elevator column, heading up towards the cockpit to show off her new body to the unsuspecting pilot. Shepard gave a thin smile, silently praying that the shock of EDI's new body would not cause their pilot to crash the ship and kill them all. That would be an unfortunate end to what had started out as such a nice day.

And it would be a pity to die before breakfast.


	3. WEEK ONE

Compared to the amount of time it took to actually set up the diplomatic meeting between leaders, the travel time to the Annos Basin took almost no time at all, though to Shepard, it could not have been over fast enough. Her fingers flexed anxiously around the headrest of Joker's chair as the gathering of diplomatic ships came into focus, and she had to resist the urge to reach down and scratch at the inside of her thighs, though that task was becoming more and more difficult by the hour. Not long after her liaison with the turian gunsmith, in the days leading up to the projected summit, a faint, itchy rash had appeared on her inner thighs, and the more she scratched at it, hoping to curb the itching, burning sensation, the worse it only seemed to get. This rash was soon accompanied by abdominal pains, the brunt of which she blamed on cross-species amino reactions, but put on a brave face nonetheless, not letting on to her crew that anything was wrong and hoping that the sensation would pass, and quickly.

Her fingers gripped the headrest of the pilot's chair as another agonizing twinge passed over her, and Joker glanced back at her, looking a bit concerned, before turning back to the controls, allowing her her privacy. Shepard knew Joker well by now, and she knew that even if she went ahead and took the opportunity to sate the burning, itching sensation, he would refrain from saying anything about it to her. In retrospect, she had seen him adjust himself a good time or two when he thought nobody was looking, so he really had no grounds on which to judge her. But even so, that did not mean that she was going to take advantage of their understanding for a mere irritability.

After all, every crew member only got so many unspoken free passes, and she was not about to waste hers on a rash that was likely her fault in the first place.

As the Normandy got nearer to the congregation, Shepard could clearly see that the diplomatic ships of the salarians, turians, and krogans floated far away from one another, well out of weapon range, as if they were afraid to even look at one another until she arrived and could act as a neutral party. It was a disheartening sight, admittedly, but not an unexpected one. Bullheadedness ran deep in the blood of soldiers, and she was only glad that the different leaders had managed to keep their hands clear of each other's throats for this long. Turning away from the pilot's chair, Shepard moved down the hallway leading from the cockpit into the navigation room, but she had no time to attend to herself before she was approached by Traynor, moving towards her from her position at the edge of the galaxy map.

"Commander, the salarian dalatross and krogan clan chief are ready to come aboard," Traynor reported, her nervous body language doing nothing to back up her professional tone.

"Have them brought to the conference room," Shepard answered, glancing back towards the room in question before letting out a tired huff of breath. "And let's hope this doesn't start another war."

* * *

"The krogan is in no position to make demands!" Dalatross Linron insisted, throwing a quick, furtive glance Wrex's way, as if afraid the hulking brute might attack her unannounced for merely stating her opinion.

" _The krogan_ has a name," Wrex replied, leaning menacingly forward towards the dalatross, his big, clawed hands pressed against the steel line of the table, his deep, rumbling voice icy as he made sure to pronounce each word as slowly and carefully as possible in an effort to drive his point home. " _Urdnot Wrex_. And I'm not just some junkyard varren you unleash whenever you're in trouble." When Shepard entered the room, however, Wrex paused, turning to look at her, before letting his hands slide off the edge of the table and straightening his posture, shifting between his broad, clawed feet as he watched the Commander cross the room to come to stand at the last remaining side of the rectangular table.

Pulling up a hologram console screen from a digitized slit in the surface of the table, Shepard entered a short code into it, and the room of the conference room sealed, the thick, soundproof glass effectively locking in all further conversation. Seeing this, Wrex gave a curt, approving nod before taking a deep breath and continuing on. "I've got problems of my own," he said, his tone calmer now as he addressed the room at large. "Reaper scouts have arrived on Tuchanka. So why should I care if a few turians go extinct?"

"Trying to draw out negotiations will get you nowhere, Wrex," Victus replied, a tired, aggravated twinge to his voice as he turned to face the krogan leader, straightening his posture and tucking his hands behind his back. "I have no time for it. Just tell us what you want."

"I'll tell you what I need," Wrex responded. Leaning in towards the table at large, he made stern eye contact with every person in the room in turn before answering, directly, "A cure. For the Genophage."

At this, the Dalatross' expression instantly changed, shifting from stern impatience to horror, and then anger. "Absolutely not!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms firmly across her sallow chest. "The Genophage is _non-negotiable_!"

"Why are you so opposed to the idea, Dalatross?" Shepard asked.

"Because my people uplifted the krogan!" Linron exclaimed. "We know them best."

"You mean you _used_ us!" Wrex shot back, a guttural anger beginning to rise in his voice. "To fight a war you couldn't win! It wasn't the salarians, or the asari, or even the turians that stopped the rachni – it was _krogan blood_ that turned the tide!"

"And after that you ceased to be useful!" the Dalatross shot back, all but sneering as she waved a dismissive hand in Wrex's general direction. "The Genophage was the only way to keep your… _urges_ , in check."

At this, a corner of Wrex's scaly lip began to curl, and he let out the beginning of a deep, angry growl. Realizing that things were quickly going downhill, Victus stepped forward, quietly clearing his throat and drawing the attention of the Dalatross away from Wrex and towards himself. "Dalatross, you may not like him, but Wrex is right," he said, taking the reins of the quickly derailing conversation and attempting to steer it back on course. "Insulting him won't change that."

"I won't apologize for speaking the truth," the Dalatross snapped. "We uplifted the krogan to do one thing – wage war. It's all they know because it's all we wanted them to know."

At this comment, Shepard frowned, feeling her sense of ire towards the Dalatross rising with every word that passed from her wrinkled, lipless mouth. The toe of her boot bounced impatiently against the floor of the conference chamber as she fought off the almost ravenous urge to scratch at her thighs, instead focusing all her attention on the matter at hand, though the matter at hand was hardly doing much to improve her mood. "Your people should have thought the matter through, then," she countered, her fingers curling irritably against the edge of the table. "Was it really a surprise the krogan revolted?"

"That's precisely my point, Commander," Linron responded, a knowing sneer in her voice. "We made a rash decision – we turned to the krogan in desperation. It's the same mistake you're about to make today. No good can come from curing the Genopha—"

"The krogan have paid for their mistakes," Shepard cut over her as a pang of searing pain wrenched her side, causing her to flinch ever so slightly, but she quickly regained her commanding composure, addressing the room at large. "The Genophage has gone on long enough."

"One thousand, four hundred and seventy-six years," Wrex provided, seeming almost surprised at the high number, himself, even as the knowledge left his mouth. "If you're keeping track."

"It was a thousand years of peace," Linron shot back, pointing accusatorily at Wrex. "Free from these… brutes!"

"ENOUGH," Victus growled, drawing the attention of the room to himself once more. "Whether or not they deserve a cure is academic. It would take _years_ to formulate one!"

"My information says otherwise," Wrex countered, levelling Victus with a knowing stare. "A salarian scientist, Maelon, grew a conscience. He was on my planet, testing a cure on our females."

"I remember," Shepard consented. "His methods were barbaric."

"But what you didn't know is that other females survived his experiments," Wrex went on, pulling up the screen in front of him and loading up a shaky video from what appeared to be a private network for the room to see. "So the Dalatross here sent in a team to clean up the whole mess, and to take them prisoner."

"Wh-where did you get this?" Linron demanded, thrown off-guard by the footage. Then, quickly regaining her stubborn composure, she insisted, "It—it could be a fabrication!"

"Don't insult me!" Wrex snapped, turning on the Dalatross and pointing an accusatory finger in her face. "Those are _my people_! They're immune to the Genophage—and you're going to give them back!"

"Dalatross, is this true?" Victus asked, a tone of betrayal in his voice as he stepped forward, disbelieving.

The Dalatross faltered, finding herself suddenly trapped. Then, steeling herself, she gave a shuddering scoff of incredulity. "How will curing the Genophage benefit my people?" she insisted.

That was the final straw.

"How long do you think you'll last alone against the Reapers?" Shepard snapped. The longer she stood still, the harder it was to ignore the feeling that flaming poison ivy was being rubbed over every inch of her body. She knew it was all in her head, that the rash had not spread any further than where it had been just before the conference, but the more she attempted to ignore it, the more irritating and painful it seemed to become, until it was almost too much for her to bear. "Because if you don't help, that's how it'll end up!"

"And I'll be the last friendly turian you ever see," Victus added for extra effect.

"So what's it gonna be?" Shepard demanded.

For a moment, the Dalatross was silent, mulling over her options, or the lack thereof. Then, resting her forehead in her hand in a gesture of regretful surrender, she gave a quiet sigh. "The females are being kept at one of our STG bases on Sur'Kesh," she said. Then, straightening to her full, threatening posture again, she looked up, her dark, almond-shaped eyes flashing with ire. "But I warn you, Commander!" she added, pointing an accusatory finger after Shepard, who had already turned to leave the room to give Joker the coordinates of their next mission. "The consequences of this will—"

"Will be nothing compared to what happens if the Reapers win!" Shepard snapped, cutting over her once again.

"Let's get the females!" Wrex chimed in, a shamelessly satisfied grin on his broad face that everyone in the room had unanimously turned against the Dalatross.

"You're not setting foot on Sur'Kesh!" the Dalatross objected, her voice cracking with anger. "This will take time to—"

"It happens _now_ ," asserted Victus. "As a council Spectre, Shepard can oversee the exchange."

"We're going," Shepard told her, firmly, before turning away again and heading towards the door of the conference room once more.

"I won't forget this, Commander!" the Dalatross called after her. "A bully has few friends when she needs them most!"

But her objections were met with the silence of an empty conference chamber, as Shepard, Wrex, and Victus had already exited, leaving her to wallow in her angry, misplaced superiority alone.

* * *

With the respective leaders returned to their people and Sur'Kesh clearly marked on the map, Shepard soon began the painstaking process of attempting to categorize and pull together the needed supplies for their upcoming mission. However, with the war eating up a majority of the galaxy's resources, it was becoming more and more difficult to find even the most basic of necessities, and therefore more and more apparent that her attempts to pull together a suitable cache for their mission to Sur'Kesh from the Normandy's existing stores were going to prove unlikely, if not downright impossible. Easy supplies such as ammunition, medi-gel, and other things which only a few years ago were so copiously and cheaply produced that people did not even think twice about simply leaving their unneeded extras lying around for others who needed them more to merely pick them up as use them were now precious commodities, hoarded by the frightened masses as the galaxy began to turn on itself in some strange, backwards Darwinian effort to be the last planet standing against a threat too large for any one force to realistically take on alone.

To Shepard's added dismay, the abdominal pains she had previously been suffering did not go away as she had expected them to – in fact, the pains only seemed to be getting worse, sometimes to the point that she would have to excuse herself to heave up her meals in her cabin's lavatory. The rash on her thighs did not seem to be going away, either, but at the very least it had begun to scab over, making it less of a constant, brazen pain and more of a passive one. Shepard figured, if anything, these aches and pains were more than likely a result of the stress she was undergoing, though she had never experienced anything quite like them before in her life. Then again, she reasoned, she had never really been under this much stress before in her life, either. Therefore, it stood to reason that she had no precedent on which to base her current condition of stressed-out misery, and thus, she could not say with or without a shadow of a doubt what was causing the aches and pains – only that she hoped that whatever it was would pass, and pass soon.

More distressing than the aches and pains, however, was the amount of strange, unwarranted attention her condition seemed to be garnering her from the ship's daunting Prothean in residence. While before Javik had seemed content to ignore and be ignored, he now seemed to be everywhere Shepard was – watching her from a corner of the mess hall, staring at her from down the walkway in the engine room, never close enough to tell her what it was he found so interesting, but always present, lurking in the corner of her vision. Once or twice, when she caught him skulking within earshot, she had asked him if she could do something to help him, to which he had paused, pensive, before slowly shaking his broad, tapered head.

"I am merely interested," he told her.

Shepard frowned a bit, confused by this vague non-answer. "Interested in what?" she asked.

"Your condition," Javik answered. Then, turning away, he had left the room, leaving her to ponder in baffled silence exactly what condition he was referring to.

Though restocking the Normandy was Shepard's first and foremost concern, she had been meaning to get back to the Citadel for at least a day's time now already after receiving an series of unexpected e-mails. The first message, from a Spectre that Shepard had never met by the name of Jondum Bau, had come entirely out of left field: Bau's e-mail informed her that he, along with a majority of his team working in the Special Tactics and Recon division, had taken her warnings about the Reapers seriously, and that he had some information he believed to be pertinent to her cause. He requested she meet with him at the Citadel to discuss the information, specifically entreating that their meeting be discreet. Shepard had been a bit taken aback by the e-mail, but decided it could do no harm to humour the Spectre's request. At the very worst, his information would be a dead end and she would be right back where she was right now, having only lost a bit of time and patience.

After all, in these uncertain times, it was much better to explore all possible leads, even those that had the potential to lead nowhere, than to leave any stone unturned and risk losing out on some valuable asset or resource.

The second e-mail, from Ashley Williams, had been a bit more uplifting. In it, she told Shepard that she was doing much better, and had even improved enough that the doctors had cleared her to receive regular visitors, though she was not quite ready to be released from their care just yet. She also shared the surprising news that during her stay at the hospital, she had been approached by Councillor Udina, who had offered her the prestigious position of Council Spectre, should she wish to take it. Then again, Shepard figured, it was not really that surprising – Ashley had always been an exceptional soldier, and her sense of honour was second to none. Should she decide to take the offer, she would make an outstanding Spectre, but it seemed, from her e-mail, that she had not yet decided on her answer, and she hoped that Shepard would be willing to stop by to give her some advice on the matter.

The third e-mail, however, had been the most unexpected – it was a message from Thane, explaining that he had tried to get in contact several times before but had failed each time, prompting him to wonder if Shepard were even still alive. In the e-mail, he confided that he had been staying at Huerta Memorial under a false name, Tannor Nuara, but that he would very much like to see her again, if at all possible, "before circumstances force us apart again". Figuring it could not hurt to kill two birds with one stone – or, in this case, four birds – Shepard had given Joker the heads-up to take them to the Hourglass Nebula. Then, taking EDI's currently unoccupied place in the co-pilot's chair, she had pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up over her head, allowing herself a short nap while Joker prepared to bring the ship in for a slingshot jump and a flawless landing.

Generally, she liked to allow Joker his space, but right now she could think of nothing that sounded more enticing than a quick, much-needed nap, safe in the knowledge that Javik would not follow her up to the cockpit and stare at her while she was sleeping. Sometimes it paid to have a pilot with a questionable sense of humour.

* * *

Things had changed on the Citadel. Almost nothing looked the same way it had six months ago. Though the layout of the place was familiar, it felt almost strangely bare. What had once been welcoming, almost garishly commercialized carpeted floors were now polished steel; decorative neon signs that had once adorned the walls, pointing in the direction of the various individual locations, had been replaced with large, almost tablet-like maps that pointed in the general direction of everything at once; what had once been a chatter of accessible radio, news, and advertisement kiosks had been replaced by giant screens that advertised to everyone at the same time and one overpowering announcement voice that came over the intercom every so often to assure everyone that everything was still in the same place it had always been, and that they were welcome to visit whenever they so chose.

Everything that might have cost extra time or money to keep running had been eliminated, leaving the Citadel feeling almost scrubbed clean, like a surgical room. It was an unnerving feeling, and one that Shepard could not imagine inspired much confidence in those who, like she, had taken note in it. The place was minimizing, preparing itself for war. Still, it was not as if she could not see the thought behind it, or even the necessity. It would be foolish to spend extra time, money, and effort to keep up appearances when that same time, money, and effort could be spent on protecting the same people the Citadel had once only pandered to commercially.

_Now arriving at Huerta Memorial Hospital._

At the sound of the elevator arriving to their floor, Dr. Michel looked up, and, catching sight of Shepard over Dr. Chakwas' shoulder, she nodded her head in the Commander's direction. Catching this subtle motion, Chakwas turned, glancing over her shoulder, before turning around to face Shepard entirely, offering her a genial, familiar smile and folding her hands together in front of her in her usual, reserved manner. "Shepard!" Chakwas said, her tone sounding amicable but otherwise unsurprised. "There you are."

"Karin," Shepard answered, hardly trying to hide the note of surprise in her own voice. "You're here?"

Chakwas turned, glancing back towards Dr. Michel, who gave a faint nod before turning and starting to walk away. Shepard's distracted gaze followed the redheaded doctor as she departed, before she finally turned her attention back to Chakwas, who was watching her with a sort of calm, detached interest, almost motherly in a way, something which Shepard found oddly calming, especially here in Huerta, with so many of the people around her losing or having already lost those closest to them in the war. "I'm working at an Alliance R&D lab down in Shalta Wards," Chakwas answered Shepard's question, folding her arms over her thin chest matter-of-factly. "Coordinating closely with Admiral Hackett. I heard you escaped Earth in the Normandy, and that someone was critically injured. I came as fast as I could."

"We had a run-in with a Cerberus synthetic on Mars," Shepard answered, her tone grim, folding her own arms in response to the motion. "Ashley took the worst of it. How is she doing?"

"Very well, all things considered," Chakwas answered, giving an approving nod before letting her arms fall back to her sides, tired but comfortable. "I am impressed with Lieutenant Commander Williams' resilience, as well as Dr. Michel's expertise. I wish I could have been there to help on Mars."

Shepard faltered, unsure of how to respond to this. On the one hand, Chakwas had a point – had she been there when Ashley was initially injured, she could have been of quite some help, and they might never have had to have taken Ashley to Huerta to treat her wounds. On the other hand, having Chakwas there with them would have run the risk of her getting unnecessarily hurt, and, thankfully enough, Ashley had been resilient enough to pull through on her own just fine until she managed to reach the safety and medical expertise available at Huerta Memorial. Shifting her weight again, Shepard wet her lips, taking a deep breath and instead changing the subject, "It's been six months, Doctor. How have you been?"

At the question, Chakwas hesitated, and then turned away from Shepard, moving instead towards the window, where a beam of synthetic light shone through onto the bleached metal floorboards, warm and inviting. The imitation light of the Citadel reminded Shepard of springtime sunlight back on Earth, and it never failed to disappoint her to remember that here it was not coming from an organic source at all. "Good," Chakwas answered, coming to a stop in front of the window and folding her hands in front of her again, reserved. "I've been fortunate. When they impounded Normandy, the Alliance didn't really know what to do with me. I was never officially part of Cerberus, and I'd gotten a proper leave of absence from my previous post."

Moving up to stand beside Chakwas at the window, Shepard noted the way the light threw their shadows across the pristine floor of the hospital, and could not help but notice how lean the doctor's shadow was. Turning to look at Chakwas again, she took a moment to observe the woman, and for the first time, she realized how sickly thin the doctor had gotten since the last time she had seen her. It was an almost startling transformation – Karin had always been a petite woman, but it seemed that stress had taken its toll on the usually unflappable English doctor. Dark lines had formed under her bright blue eyes, and she walked with a faint, tired slump of her thin shoulders, as if she carried the metaphorical weight of the world upon them.

"So you hadn't technically done anything wrong by joining me to defeat the Collectors," Shepard concluded.

"Yes," Chakwas agreed, matter-of-factly. "Though I suppose if you were judged to be war criminal, I would have been tried as an accessory."

"Your place is in Normandy's med bay, Doctor. Not some lab."

"I couldn't agree more," Chakwas conceded. "Working here has been… edifying, but it's just not the same. So much pain and suffering… never the same faces twice, and when there are, it's never good. I want to do my part in this war, but there's only so much of this place I can stand before I start to lose a bit of myself to it. You just say the word and I'm with you."

"The Normandy wouldn't be the same without you, Doctor," Shepard told her, offering her a small, reassuring smile. She could see what Chakwas meant – just walking in the door of the Hospital had filled her with an unnerving sense of dread and finality, so she could not even imagine what it must be like for someone like Chakwas, spending all her time there tending to the sick and dying, never knowing if the person she was talking to one minute would be gone the next. "Go ahead and get your things. We're stationed at Docking Bay D24."

"Yes, Commander," Chakwas breathed, folding her hands together again, unmasked relief in her refined voice. "And thank you."

"Don't thank me so soon," Shepard joshed. "Remember: Joker is still aboard."

"And I'd be surprised if he's remembering his medication," Chakwas answered, just as droll, though Shepard could not help but note the faint hint of actual annoyance at this all-too-dependable behaviour. Then, feeling that the conversation had come to an agreeable end, Chakwas turned, starting towards the offices near the entrance of Huerta Memorial. Shepard, similarly satisfied, started to make her way in the direction of the care rooms when a familiar voice called her back, stopping her in her tracks. She could feel her stomach drop at the greeting, and though she felt guilty for feeling that way, she could not help it as she turned to face her addresser, forcing an uncomfortable but amicable smile to her face.

"Siha," Thane addressed her, nearly bouncing on his thinly-clad heels as he came to stand in front of her. "I heard Earth was under attack. I didn't know you made it out."

"Thane," Shepard responded, feigning happy surprise. "It's been too long. I was beginning to think I would never see you again." A small part of her had been hoping that she _could_ have avoided him on this trip to the Citadel, but she supposed it was inevitable that he would find her. After all, she never went anywhere without some small sort of fanfare in her wake, whether she liked it or not, and he was one of the top assassins in the galaxy, always with his ear to the ground. In all honesty, she _had_ been wanting to see him again, but on her own time, when she felt more secure about everything going on in her life, both personally and professionally. Her relationship with Thane, if it could have been called that, had ended rather abruptly when she had been court-martialled on Earth and made to stay in the Alliance facility for six months, out of contact with anyone from her crew. Not that she had done much of anything to combat that – the time spent on her own had been refreshing, and had allowed her time to clear her head.

"Good to see you staying in shape," she told him, grasping at straws for something positive to say.

"My disease kills slowly," Thane explained, matter-of-fact. "With enough care and a healthy lifestyle, it can be delayed for a few years." As he continued to stare at her, taking her in, Shepard could feel herself all but fidget under his longing, scrutinising gaze. From the start, she and the drell had had very different ideas of where their so-called relationship was apt to go – he was a romantic at heart, whereas she dismissed the idea of true love and instead preferred to concentrate on what made her feel good in the here and now. Thane had been much more invested in the relationship than she ever had, calling her his warrior goddess and insinuating that she made his life so much better despite the disease that was slowly eating away at him. She, on the other hand, had not been interested in him much further than on a sexual level, but had been too afraid of hurting his feelings to tell him so.

Admittedly, his doting, constant attention, and claims of affection had all been nice while they had lasted, but Shepard had realized, even back then, that although she enjoyed the attention he gave her, she could never commit to him the way he would have wanted her to. That sort of attachment was simply beyond her short-term capabilities, and so, when she had been presented with the opportunity to forgo speaking to him for a long period of time, she had all but jumped at it. She had hoped that the six months spent apart with no contact would have lessened his feelings for her, but it seemed that her hopes had been in vain as he reached forward, taking her hands in his, holding them tenderly.

"Of course, my allotted time has come and gone," Thane added, thoughtfully. "Now I exercise because it pleases me."

"I see," Shepard answered, unsure of what else there was to say in the situation. She allowed him to hold onto her hands for another moment, letting him familiarize himself with their feel, before slipping her hands out of his grasp, flexing her fingers as she tried to dismiss the feel of his cool, almost amphibious touch against her skin.

"I sent a few messages while you were incarcerated," Thane told her then, seeming almost not to notice her level of discomfort, or politely ignoring it for the sake of amity. "I suspect they never got past the guards. But… what are you doing here?"

"Visiting a friend who got hurt protecting me," Shepard answered, thankful for the opportunity to shift the subject away from their strained relationship, or lack thereof. "Ashley."

"The dark-haired human woman in intensive care…" Thane seemed thoughtful for a moment, his dark, glassy gaze diverting from her face, before turning his attention back to her and offering a reassuring hand of encouragement. "She will be starting physical therapy with my class soon," he said.

"That's her," Shepard confirmed, giving a short nod.

"Your enemies may try to finish her off here," Thane observed, before adding, reassuringly, "but I will look out for her. As long as she is here, consider her under my protection."

"I appreciate it, Thane," Shepard consented, reaching forward to offer him a friendly, grateful touch on the shoulder. It was only after she had pulled back from the gesture that she realized that it had probably not been the best idea – physical contact signified an extension of familiarity, one she had tried to cut short when she had pulled away after he had taken her hands. Offering it up again meant that it would be that much harder to shake him when she needed to leave to visit Ashley, or to head back to the Normandy. Thane seemed to realize it, too, and for a moment he seemed to linger on it, giving his head a meditative tilt to one side and shifting musingly between the pressure points of his feet. Then, straightening again, he offered Shepard a thoughtful stare, his black, reptilian eyes almost expectant as they fixed on her, waiting on her next move.

"I am near the end of my life," the drell suddenly spoke again, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them. "It is a good time to be generous. Kepral's Syndrome has put most of my other plans on hold."

Shepard hesitated, taken aback by his frankness, before giving a half-awkward shrug of one shoulder. "I'm back on the Normandy on an important mission," she told him. "I could use you there, if you'd be willing to come along."

Thane paused, considering this a moment. Then, finally, he gave a slow, candid shake of his head. "I cannot," he answered, truthfully. "I would not be as I was before. I need daily medical attention, and if I know you, you will want to fight the Reapers somehow. You need the best at your side, and I am not at mine." Folding his unusual hands together, he brought them to rest against the base of his ribcage, watching Shepard with a silent, observant bearing. "I am at peace with what I have done with my life, Shepard," he finally broke the silence again. "There comes a time when one must rest from war and conflict. It is not your time, but it is mine." He fell silent again, pensive, before finally taking a deep breath and lifting his chin, proud.

"I have only a few loves left, but you are my last," he told her then, the depth of the statement almost startling. "I may not be able to fight the Reapers at your side as I once did, but let me do what I can for you."

Shepard hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Then, abandoning her paranoia of physical contact, she leaned forward, planting a soft, quick kiss of thanks on his cheek. "I wish the best for you, Thane," she told him, earnest. Thane smiled in response, but there was something wan in his expression, almost as if he did not believe her, or could read right through the noncommittal nature of her reply.

"I think of you often, Siha," he confessed. "Live well in the time you have. Perhaps… we will see each other again."

"Perhaps we will," Shepard agreed. Then, giving Thane's hands one last, reassuring squeeze, she released them, feeling an unexpected sense of closure as she turned away from him, making her way towards the Inpatient Wards, and Ashley.

Perhaps seeing Thane again had not been such a bad thing after all.

* * *

Shepard's visit with Ashley had been, though short, satisfactory. She had been glad to see that her loyal friend was, at the very least, doing better, and in the course of what small amount of conversation they had managed to have before Ashley had succumbed back to healing sleep, Shepard had managed to learn a bit about the Lieutenant-Commander's family, those in the service as well as those still back on Earth. She enjoyed learning about her crew members, and Ashley's family history in particular had always been interesting to her in the way it had shaped the dark-haired woman's thoughts and motivations as a soldier. A few who had served on the same crew as herself, Williams, and Alenko back during the proud run of the first Normandy had sometimes been put off by Ashley's talk of religion, as well as her hesitation towards openly trusting any aliens they happened to come across, but Shepard had never been one to take sides without first learning everything there was to know about someone, and what made them think the way they did.

It was a good thing she had, too, as it had brought her that much closer to the woman who would quickly become one of her dearest friends. Having to choose between her and Lieutenant Alenko had been a crushing blow; he, too, had been a very dear friend, but he had volunteered without hesitation to stay behind on Virmire so that the rest of them could get to safety – a selfless act of heroism which, despite the years that had gone by since its execution, had never quite left Shepard.

However, she was determined not to let sad memories quell her good spirits as she took the central elevator down to the Presidium Commons, interested to know how the more frivolous parts of the Citadel had changed since her last visit. Like everything else in the Citadel, the Presidium had become jam-packed with industry, from armour and ammo shops squeezed so close together that single counters were being used for two or three different storefronts at a time, to apartment blocks with doors barely ten feet apart, suggesting apartments that could not have been much larger than Shepard's quarters on the Normandy, and likely smaller. Large, attention-grabbing advertisements covered every available free surface, and what had once apparently been a free-range lounge area had since been converted into a banking centre, with several sticky-fingered volus bankers ready and willing to take the credits of anyone dumb enough to open an account at the near-peak of the war.

Still, it seemed that some things had not changed. The beautiful vegetation that had always, to Shepard, given the Presidium a comforting atmosphere was still there, growing out of every polished ledge and corner tile, and the crystal clear filtered moat still bubbled with life, its lapping surface playfully catching and reflecting the beams of the Citadel's artificial lightsource. The stores and common areas buzzed with people conversing in low voices about the rise in prices and the state of the war, but it was not difficult to tune them out until all that Shepard could hear was a dull, wordless hum. Then, catching sight of what appeared to be a familiar face, Shepard turned, making her way down the stairs and moving across the squeaky, polished floors until she stood at the bar of the Apollo Café, offering a genial, if somewhat forced, smile of recognition to the café's asari bartender.

"Hey there," she said, causing the asari to look up, seeming not entirely surprised at having been interrupted. Pausing in her work, the asari observed Shepard for a short moment, searching her extensive memory for where she had seen the woman before, and then, seeming to remember, she smiled back at the Commander, indicating towards her with the dish-rag she held.

"Hey, I remember you," the asari said, sounding at least moderately happy to see a familiar face. "Shepard, right? Heard you're fighting the Reapers." Setting down the dish-towel, she bent, pulling a glass and a vial of blue liquid from under the counter. Then, opening the vial, she poured it into the glass before sliding the glass towards Shepard across the bar.

"Matriarch Aethyta," Shepard replied, a knowing smirk turning up a corner of her mouth as she pulled the glass of blue liquid the rest of the way towards her. "You were working on Illium, last I saw you." Picking up her glass, she took a sip from it, careful not to down it all at once. She had learned from experience to pace herself when dealing with alien liquor.

"Yeah," Aethyta replied, giving a humourless huff of a laugh as she stashed the dish-towel she had previously been using under the bar. "Illium. Won't be going back there anytime soon. Not the way things are going now."

"Why?" Shepard asked, running the pad of her finger pensively along the edge of her glass. "Has Cerberus taken it over, like Omega?"

"Cerberus?" Aethyta asked, almost surprised by the question. "Nah, not Cerberus. They haven't touched it, shockingly. Not that they had to, anyway. Illium did a fine job destroying itself without their help."

"What happened?" Shepard asked. Then, frowning, she lifted her glass to her lips, taking another thoughtful sip.

"Fear," Aethyta answered frankly. "There's no more effective weapon in the entire galaxy. You scare a group of people enough, and they'll turn on each other like a pack of wild varren."

"So people got scared and… left?" Shepard asked.

"More or less," Aethyta replied. "But it didn't happen overnight. It was slow, like a poison." Spotting a patron getting up to leave, she turned, moving down the bar to collect their used glass, before returning to stand across from Shepard again, retrieving her dish-towel from under the bar and starting to clean the glass. "Fear turned what was once the most thriving industrial planet in the galaxy into… barely more than a glorified ghost town," she told her, her bare brows drawing together into a hardened frown. "People stopped trusting one another. Pretty soon paranoia began to set in, and people who'd been friends, even the best of friends, started to turn on one another. It was… a nightmare."

Finished cleaning the glass, she stooped, setting it underneath the bar, before starting to clean the bar top distractedly with the cloth in sharp, practiced circles. "By the time I finally got outta there, barely any shops were still left open," she went on. "And those that were had to be under constant armed protection to prevent looters from trying to steal the grossly overpriced merchandise. The only place that still seemed to get any business before I left was the bar, and even then never to anyone lookin' to have fun…" Here she sighed, stopping in her cleaning to look up at Shepard with an expression of melancholy. "Only those trying to drown their grief," she said. "Or turn a blind eye to the inevitable."

"So how'd you end up here?" Shepard asked, taking another drink from her glass, distracted.

"Eh, with the Reapers making noise I figured it was time to get somewhere safer," Aethyta returned, almost dismissive, seeming only too glad to change the subject and shed the unhappy sentiment of before. "So I moved here."

Shepard narrowed her eyes, staring at Aethyta for a moment, as if trying to gage the truth in her answer, before finally shaking her head. "I don't think so," she answered. "I've seen some video footage… of you looking at Liara." At this, she turned, glancing over towards where the young asari scientist sat, and Aethyta followed her gaze, silent, before finally letting out a soft, conceding sigh.

"Yeah…" she admitted. She shifted uncomfortably, resting her hip against the edge of the bar and sliding her hand back and forth across its surface, thoughtful, before finally looking up at Shepard again. "Matriarch Benezia was, um… was her mother," she told her. "And, uh… well, she doesn't know it, but… I was her father."

Shepard frowned, taken aback, her finger stopping in its distracted rounds on the edge of her glass as she stared at the asari in front of her. "You mean you were her other mother, right?" she asked, confused.

"No, I didn't pop her out," Aethyta answered, annoyed, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "Hell, she's never even _met_ me."

"Sorry," Shepard replied, still confused but trying not to show it. "If you were human, you would both be called the mother, regardless of… which one gave birth."

"Well, I'm not human, am I?" Aethyta snapped, visibly irritated now. "Anthropocentric bag of dicks."

Realizing her clueless commentary may very well have caused her to overstay her welcome, Shepard quickly finished off her drink, sliding the empty glass across the bar counter towards Aethyta, before nodding her head in the direction of Liara, who sat across the courtyard from the two of them, reading distractedly from a datapad, seemingly in her own little world. "I think Liara would love to meet you," Shepard said, trying in earnest to change the subject to something more agreeable.

"Why?" Aethyta asked, picking up the empty glass and cleaning it with a quick jerk of her wrist before stuffing it back below the counter with the others. "She doesn't even know me from a hole in the ground. Benezia ran off before the kid was born…" She hesitated, turning to glance over towards Liara, and let out another small, penitent sigh. "Besides, this isn't charity work," she added. "She's one of the biggest intel brokers in the galaxy. And she's got some shady connections…." At this, she turned to look at Shepard again, knowing. "Like a girlfriend who used to work for Cerberus…" she said. "Sound… familiar…?"

"I only worked with Cerberus to fight the Reapers," Shepard quickly countered, defensive.

"And you're not with them now, I know," Aethyta replied, her own hackles visibly rising to meet the Commander's. "If you were, you wouldn't get within a _lightyear_ of Liara."

"Is that a threat?" Shepard hissed, all but challenging the matriarch.

"I'm no Commando, but I've had a thousand years to learn to fight dirty," Aethyta replied, her voice dark. " _Nobody_ messes with my girl." Then, seeming to cool down, Aethyta picked up her cloth again, starting to wipe down the already-clean bar once more, preoccupied. "Anyway, you combine her work with Benezia, and… well, the matriarchs might have ordered a hit if I hadn't agreed to keep an eye on her."

"That's not gonna happen," Shepard snapped, defensive.

"No argument here," Aethyta answered, holding up her hands in a gesture of truce. "I only took these crap jobs to keep the matriarchs happy that she's under control."

For another instant, Shepard allowed herself to seethe, letting her emotions play themselves out before she tried to overcome them with the practiced calm she had been working on since finding herself on thin ice with the Alliance, with her every move under scrutiny. It paid to have self-control in this line of work, but she also knew that if she tried too hard to keep her emotions bottled up, they would eventually bubble over and she would explode. It was better to give herself time to cool down during each confrontation than to depend on isolated instances of private emotion to balance out the forced stretches of calm. She knew officers who had tried that tactic before, and most of them had failed miserably.

"I bet she'd like to meet you," Shepard finally said, returning the conversation to the amicable tone it had been before Aethyta's derailing comment about Shepard's questionable allegiance to Cerberus.

Aethyta hesitated, and then, trying hard to keep the look of near-hopefulness from her expression, she glanced over towards Liara, who sat at a far corner table in the café, reading off of a datapad, seeming completely wrapped up in her work. "Yeah," Aethyta finally replied, sceptical, turning back towards Shepard again. "We'll see how _that_ goes."

Shepard tapped her index finger thoughtfully against the edge of her glass, considering Aethyta as she did so. The matriarch was no fool; she could read Shepard like an open book, and knew all too well that the Commander was easy prey to reverse psychology, and a sucker for a challenge. Everyone had heard about the infamous suicide run Shepard and her crew had taken into the heart of the Collector base, and had learned that the phrases 'don't do that' or 'you can't do that' only served as open invitations for the Commander to prove the naysayer wrong. Finishing off her drink, Shepard slid the glass back across the bar towards Aethyta, making a quick pass across the digital reader in the countertop with the hand her omni-tool brace was equipped to, transferring digital funds from her account to the café.

Making her way across the café to where Liara sat in her isolated corner, Shepard moved up behind the young asari, resting her hand against the edge of Liara's chair and looking over her shoulder at the datapad she seemed so intent on. The scrolling text made little sense to her, but she was sure it was important to Liara, and likely something the asari would not appreciate being spied on while studying. "Still working?" Shepard asked her, making her presence known, and Liara looked up from her datapad, soft surprise in her expression at having been pulled away from her work, before seeing Shepard and setting the datapad down in front of her, letting out a small, weary sigh.

"One call leads to another," she told her. "And here I was hoping I'd have time to enjoy the view." Getting up from her seat, she crossed to the railing overlooking the artificial moat, propping her gloved hands against the bar and leaning into it, staring out across the expanse of the Presidium, seeming almost lost in thought. "The last time I saw the Presidium… remember how it was all rubble after Sovereign attacked?"

"I barely got to see the Presidium before half of it got crushed," Shepard answered truthfully.

"And by the time they repaired it, it was time for the next invasion," Liara added. Crossing her ankles in a dancer's waiting posture, she turned her head to glance back at Shepard, her usually gentle expression stern. "The Citadel hasn't seen the reality of this war yet," she told the Commander. "We should stock up on necessities while we can."

"Such as?" Shepard prompted.

"Eezo," Liara answered simply. "Heavy arms…" Turning back towards the moat, she leaned her elbows against the café's railing, letting out a long, tired sigh as she stared out at the view, seeming to look through it rather than at it as she ran over and over in her head the list of things the Normandy would need if it were to have a chance to survive to the end of the Reaper war. "Mercenary groups…"

"We'll get the people," Shepard told her, reaching out to put a reassuring hand on the young asari's back. "Take a moment for yourself now and then."

"I know, I know," Liara conceded, turning away from the Presidium view to move back towards her table, seating herself in front of her still-scrolling datapad. "But there's always one more task or meeting…"

"Speaking of meetings," Shepard said, thankful for the easy segue in the conversation as she slid into the straight-backed chair across from Liara's, "that bartender over there—"

"The matriarch hired by the asari government to track my movements?" Liara asked, barely missing a beat. Shepard knew she should be used to Liara producing this sort of uncanny knowledge at the drop of a hat by now, but it still took her by surprise how unaffected the asari seemed to be by this information, and for a moment she could only stare at her friend in stunned, awkward limbo.

"She's your father," she finally blurted out.

"I know," Liara replied.

"You… you know?" Shepard asked, now completely thrown off-guard. If Liara had known this information before, why had she not said something – or, more pressingly, why had she not gone over and talked to Aethyta herself? The matriarch had clearly wanted to establish a connection with her Shadow Broker daughter, but it seemed that Liara had intentionally kept the fact that she knew that small bit of information to herself, though for the life of her Shepard could not quite figure out why.

"I'm a very good information broker," Liara answered simply, the faintest hint of sarcasm in her usually passive tone.

"And you haven't talked to her about spying on you?" Shepard asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"If I did that, they might send someone who wasn't as sympathetic to me," Liara told her, matter-of-factly. "Besides, this is hardly the time for family reunions."

"Liara," Shepard scolded.

Liara faltered a moment, shocked at having been scolded by her best friend, before pursing her blue lips and frowning indignantly. "Oh, fine," she huffed. Then, getting to her feet, she began to move away from Shepard across the café towards the bar where Aethyta stood, her stitched tailcoats giving an agitated little twitch as she walked, and Shepard could barely help a wry smile from inching across her face at the sight.

She might not have been til-death-do-us-part material, but _damn_ if she didn't have a cute butt.

* * *

Almost everyone on the Citadel was familiar with C-Sec, though few seemed impressed with them, which did not seem like such a strange turn of events. C-Sec had hardly ever come with star-studded recommendations, especially from those not involved in its ranks – between reports of dirty policework and those who actually worked to uphold a clean system struggling to keep up with all the cases assigned to the point that they could not help dropping the metaphorical ball left and right, it came as no surprise that the young couple Shepard spoke to when asking about the offices of certain C-Sec officials had initially met her inquiry with a scoff before finally divulging to her where the offices had been moved to since the rearrangement of the Citadel to better fit the need for wartime efficiency.

Bailey's new office did not take her long to find – nestled into a tiny corner of wallspace right down the hall from the Spectre base of operations and Councillor Udina's office in the Citadel Embassies, it was the first door she came to after a short walk up a flight of highly-polished stairs. She could hardly help but pick up a few hints of conversation wafting up from the desk that had been set up to take care of any questions and concerns regarding wartime affairs, and she felt a pang of pity for all the men and woman asking about their loved ones. However, these thoughts were quickly dispelled the instant she saw the door of Bailey's office open and two familiar figures emerge, locked in what appeared to be a forcefully civilized battle of wills.

"There is no antihuman conspiracy here, Miss Al-Jilani," Bailey assured the dark-haired reporter, and Shepard could clearly hear the note of annoyance in his straightforward tone as he clasped his hands in front of him, cordial despite what she could only guess was his natural instinct towards vexation. "The Council is simply not granting interviews at this time."

"My viewers are going to know that C-Sec and the Council are denying them access," Al-Jilani replied, unimpressed, folding her arms and cocking her hip to one side in disapproval as she came to a stubborn stop just outside of Bailey's office door.

"Listen, lady," Bailey sighed, irritated, his hands clenching, even in the passive gesture he held them in. "You think I like playing gatekeeper between the politicians and the paparazzi? I don't have time to babysit them and I'm not here to hold your hand."

Pursing her lips, Al-Jilani held her ground, weighing her options for a moment. Then, dropping her stance, she instead propped one hand on her hip, using the other to point accusatorily towards Bailey, who barely reacted to the display apart from blinking tiredly at her. "Well I'm camping out until I'm granted an audience!" Al-Jilani insisted, sounding ruffled but no less determined than when she had first come in.

Realizing he was fighting a losing battle, Bailey merely sighed. "Fine," he told her, unclasping his hands and allowing them to fall resignedly at his sides. "I hope you brought a sleeping bag." Having said his piece, Bailey turned, disappearing back into his office and letting the automatic door shut behind him with a hiss. For an instant, Al-Jilani seemed put off, clutching her digital memo pad to her chest, her thin fingers tapping agitatedly against the polished edges, as if contemplating her next best plan of action. Then, catching sight of movement in her peripheral, she turned, and when she saw the Commander, her eyes instantly widened, seeming to have forgotten entirely the rudeness of her previous pseudo-interview.

"Commander Shepard!" Al-Jilani exclaimed, holding up a hand to draw the Commander's attention to her. In truth, the gesture had been unnecessary – Shepard was already well aware of the interviewer's presence, and even if she had not been, Khalisah was a hard woman to miss, with her signature brightly-coloured work attire and the little white camera-bot that always floated just behind her right shoulder, bobbing happily in the air like a deceptively carefree buoy as it captured her every critical moment for the media world to see. "Commander, the people of the Alliance have questions!"

Sliding her hands into the spacious pockets of her jacket, Shepard turned to face Al-Jilani, preparing herself for yet another barrage of backhanded questioning. Her rash was beginning to burn again, but she clenched her teeth, forcing herself not to react to it in front of the reporter. If Al-Jilani caught wind of Shepard having so much as a bug bite, she was sure the journalist would use it to her advantage to claim that the Commander was in some way distracted from her duties. That was the way the media was – they like to take a small story and exacerbate it into a galactic disaster. It was only a pity they had chosen to do the opposite when it came to Shepard's initial exposure of the Reapers – had Al-Jilani only been working with her this whole time, rather than against her, then the galaxy might have been better prepared for the now-inevitable Reaper attack.

"Commander Shepard!" Al-Jilani prompted her. "Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani."

"I know who you are," Shepard sighed, trying her best to sound patient, but even her feigned patience was beginning to wear thin.

"I—yes," Al-Jilani answered, quickly. "Now, isn't it true that you were on Earth when the Reapers attacked? How do you justify running away while millions of people on Earth die? Is that the best we can expect from the Alliance?" As she spoke, the little camera-bot popped up over her shoulder, its lens widening expectantly as it stared Shepard down, and Shepard could hardly keep from glaring into it. Khalisah she could deal with on any given day with little to no trouble, but she really hated that camera.

"I came to get help for Earth," Shepard explained simply, her speech slow and steady, countering Al-Jilani's heated demands for answers. "For everyone."

"What about all the people suffering while you play politics with the Council? What about them?" Al-Jilani pressed, and for the first time Shepard could hear the fever pitch of desperation creeping steadily upward in the interviewer's voice, and found herself feeling a pang of actual pity for the woman. It had never occurred to her before now that Al-Jilani might have family on Earth just like everyone else, but as she spoke, the Commander could not help her heart from going out to the other woman. "How can you stand here while our families die? What are you going to do—?!"

"Khalisah," Shepard suddenly spoke, her voice gentle, stopping the interviewer cold. Then, taking a step forward, she placed a reassuring hand on the woman's shoulder, levelling her gaze with Al-Jilani's deep sea-green eyes, kindly but stern. "We're doing everything we can," she assured her.

"Before they cut the feeds… there were so many dead…" Al-Jilani pleaded, her tone desperate, as if hoping for something, anything, any words of reassurance from the Commander that everything she had seen so far had been wrong.

"I'm gonna stop the Reapers or die trying, but I need your help," Shepard told her, keeping her voice calm but steady. "Keep asking the hard questions, Khalisah. Don't let the Council forget about Earth."

For a moment, Al-Jilani seemed speechless, unsure of what to say, how to respond to this show of unexpected sincerity and good will. Then, clutching her microphone, she gave a single, understanding nod. "I will," she said, her voice quiet but determined. "Thank you, Commander."

Returning the gesture, Shepard let her hands slide off of the reporter's shoulders, allowing Khalisah to begin to walk away, and, as she did, Shepard turned as well, heading towards Bailey's office. Then, suddenly –

"Wait," Al-Jilani said, holding out an imploring hand towards the Commander's retreating back. Shepard stopped, taken aback by the journalist's sudden change of pace, but, rather than turning to face Al-Jilani again, she simply looked at the ground, sliding her hands into her pockets and silently indicating her willingness to listen, if only for a moment. Retrieving her hand, Al-Jilani took a quick, shuddering breath, readying herself to speak. "Listen, Commander," she said, her voice tentative as she took a cautious step forward towards the other woman. "I know we haven't always been on the best of terms, but I… had an idea." Al-Jilani paused then, biting her lip, clearly nervous to go on, but Shepard turned around to face her, giving the other woman her full, undivided attention.

"I'm listening," she said.

"Commander," Al-Jilani said again, her fingers curling anxiously around the handle of her microphone, twisting it nervously as she attempted to figure out how to word what she was trying to say. "What if… I were to report… from aboard the Normandy? That way, my viewers can get a good look at what's really going on there, and I can give the world the real story of the fight against the Reapers, right from the frontlines."

She hesitated again, seeing the stern look of scepticism on the Commander's face, but then, taking another step forward, she took a quick, sharp breath, anxiously twisting the microphone between her hands even harder. "I wouldn't be in the way," she assured her. "I'd only ask for interviews when people wanted to give them. I wouldn't make a nuisance of myself, I promise. Plus, I-I'd be happy to sleep just about anywhere. I just… I really think this is the opportunity of a lifetime, to show the world what's really happening and let them know exactly who's fighting for them. That way, even if you do die while fighting the Reapers, you'll live on in infamy in all the vids I've captured of you and your crew along the way."

Al-Jilani smiled, the gesture appearing almost painfully forced, her entire body seeming to tense up at the prospect of the greatest war story ever covered on galactic television. "What do you say?" she asked enthusiastically.

"I have no interest in living on in infamy," Shepard answered bluntly, and she could almost sense Al-Jilani deflating like a stuck party balloon. "And I hate to tell you, but if we die, you would more than likely die, too. You remember what happened to the last Normandy."

"Right, but that was… almost three years ago," Al-Jilani argued, a tone of desperation rising in her voice now. "Please, Commander. This is the story I've waited my whole life to do. The Real Commander Shepard: Courageous War Hero, or Ruthless Warmonger?" Clutching her microphone to her chest, she gave a long sigh, her dark sea-green eyes all but lighting up at the prospect of the exposé.

"You don't have many friends, do you, Khalisah?" Shepard asked, deadpan.

"Oh please, Commander," Al-Jilani begged, seeming to completely ignore the question. "Please…!"

Shepard sighed, bringing a hand up and letting her head rest in it for a moment, her other hand propped resignedly against her hip. Then, letting her hand fall back to her side, she looked up at Al-Jilani again, weary understanding in her bright-green eyes. "Fine," she answered, her voice quiet, simply too tired to argue anymore. "Just so long as I get veto power over the segments you file. I don't want any sensitive information about myself or any of my crew going public all through the galaxy. Understand?"

"Of course," Al-Jilani answered instantaneously, but Shepard could still detect a faint hint of disappointment in her voice.

"Okay then," Shepard told her, strictly-business. "Report to the ship as soon as possible. Any questions?"

"How much gear can I bring?" Al-Jilani asked, a familiar squaring of her shoulders and perk to her posture as she once again returned to the role of the inquiring mind. It seemed that no matter the setting, that was what she felt most comfortable doing – asking questions. It was no wonder she chose journalism to be her profession. Shepard only hoped her inquisitive nature would not get in the way of her crewmembers doing their duties efficiently.

"One footlocker," Shepard answered simply, and she was relieved when Al-Jilani did not instantly object to the regulation. She guessed that, with the war and everything going on, everyone had been forced to make hard choices, and nobody could really count on all of their possessions still being there when the worst of the carnage was over. One footlocker, or one cargo bag, seemed like just enough storage space to carry the absolute essentials – the sentimental heirlooms, the things someone simply could not live without. For Shepard, the destruction of her first ship and her consequent displacement to an entirely new allegiance and environment had taught her to live with just what she carried on her person, but she knew that others with less drastic backgrounds could not be asked to do the same, and one footlocker seemed a reasonable compromise.

"Thank you, Commander," Al-Jilani told her, giving her another appreciative nod. "I'll go get ready right away." Al-Jilani turned, starting to head towards the elevators, then, seeming to remember something, she turned back again, this time pointing an indicative finger towards Shepard. "Commander," she said. "We haven't always seen eye-to-eye, but I'm glad you're on our side."

Then, satisfied that she had gotten to say her piece, Al-Jilani turned back towards the elevators again, leaving Shepard to watch her disappear into the crowd, before shaking her head and muttering to herself, "I just hope _you're_ on our side."


	4. WEEK TWO, Pt.1

It had been a little over a week since the abdominal pains had begun, and though the irritating rash Shepard had suffered all of the week previous had begun to go away thanks to a healthy helping of medi-gel and an assortment of soothing savs, the nausea and the pain had continued. Unfortunately, the fact that the rash was beginning to clear up only made the nausea seem to be getting worse by comparison, and though Shepard was certain she knew what was causing the discomfort – stress was the easiest explanation, and made the most sense – she suspected that her shameful lack of sleep and poor eating habits were probably dependable contributors as well.

Even during her days on the Normandy SR1, during the initial race to warn the people of the impending Reaper attack, she had never had as reprehensible a diet or as poor a sleep schedule as she had now. Not that she had not expected this turn of events, considering the impending proverbial end of all things; however, she had to admit that she was disappointed in her body for reacting so poorly to it when, now more than ever, she needed to be functioning at her fullest capacity for the sake of her galaxy and crew.

Shepard was stubborn by nature, and, as anyone would attest, she loathed to admit defeat – but when the pain and nausea had finally gotten to a point where it could no longer be avoided, she had decided that she would bring it up to Dr. Chakwas in passing the next time the two of them happened to be alone together. And so, later that evening, over a cheerful helping of fruit salad, Shepard had explained her symptoms to Chakwas, whose gaze never left the Commander as she spoke. Then, having finished explaining her symptoms, Shepard fell silent, her fork suspended over her plate, forgotten, speared with two types of fruit she had never seen before but trusted Gardner enough to believe they were edible and not poisonous to humans.

Taking a small bite of the red unidentified fruit from her own plate, Chakwas chewed it thoughtfully for a moment, before pointing at Shepard with her fork. "Have you had your implants checked recently?" she asked, careful not to show her food as she spoke. Swallowing, she shifted the fruit around her plate, looking for a certain type, before picking out a cube of watermelon and cantaloupe for her next bite. "Yours seemed to be doing quite well, from what I remember of our time with Cerberus," she added, bringing her fork to her mouth again. "But as with everything, I've heard horror stories. Discomfort is one of the less potent signs that something might be wrong."

"What are some of the others?" Shepard asked, finally bringing her neglected bite of fruit to her mouth and starting to chew. It was not nearly as bad as she had feared – the foreign fruit had a sweet taste, and a texture like a soft meat. Eaten alone it would probably have been inedible, but mixed in with other fruit it was not half bad.

"Oh, just the usual sorts of things you would expect from full-scale bodily rejections," Chakwas answered offhandedly, prodding several pieces of honeydew onto the end of her fork. "Skin splitting apart in various degrees of severity… cosmetic features like ears and noses shrivelling and falling off… massive internal bleeding, usually traceable by vast amounts of blood in one's urine…" Shrugging, she took her healthy bite of honeydew, before looking up at Shepard, whose fork hung slack in her fingers, her face frozen in a look of horrified shock.

"I'm sorry, Commander," Chakwas said politely, finishing her bite and swallowing. "Was it something I said?"

Once Chakwas had finished her dinner, and Shepard had been coerced into doing the same, the two had retreated into Chakwas' office, which had undergone very little updating since the good doctor had moved back in only a few days prior. There were new medical digibooks on the few, sparse shelves that lined the walls, and the desk was decorated with small pieces of memorabilia, matching pen sets, and digital photo frames showing pictures of happier times. Settling into her familiar chair, Chakwas shifted a few things around on the desk before pulling up her hologram computer screen and scrolling through her medical files, looking for the one on Shepard.

"Is everything okay for you down here, Doctor?" Shepard asked, trying not to sound too awkward as she waited for Chakwas to find her file. "Everything still working the way you remember it?"

"The Alliance team cleaned up and restocked, but it's still my old medbay," Dr. Chakwas answered fondly, taking a quick glance around, as if to reassure herself that she were really back on the Normandy and it was not all just part of an overlong dream. Then, turning around again, she returned her attention to her medical database, selecting a file from the list. "Feels like home. But, let's get down to business – no use wasting time talking about the way things used to be."

"There's nothing wrong with me, is there?" Shepard joked, watching as Chakwas pulled up what appeared to be a medical program on her glowing omni-tool.

"Not that I know of," Chakwas answered honestly, syncing the program on her omni-tool with the computer file she had pulled up, before waving away the computer screen and getting up from her chair. "But we should keep an eye on all of those cybernetic implants Cerberus had grafted into you."

"Expensive stuff, bringing me back," Shepard commented, offhand.

"And worth every penny," Chakwas replied. "But, let's double-check that everything is okay, just to be safe. I just want to make sure some sort of rejection of the cybernetics is not what's causing you to feel so…"

"Blegh?" Shepard suggested.

"That description works as well as any," Chakwas conceded.

"I guess a checkup never hurts," Shepard agreed. "Just… no scalpel this time, Doc." In all honesty, she was hoping that some sort of cybernetic rejection _was_ what was causing her to feel so on-and-off sick – it was becoming more and more difficult to hide her discomfort from other members of her crew, and she knew that even the least observant of them might begin to suspect something if she kept disappearing to her quarters or to the medbay on a regular basis. Gardener was a good cook, and a good friend, so she could not fall back on the go-to explanation of 'food poisoning' for fear of hurting his feelings, which left her with very few other excuses as to her sometimes urgent disappearances at the most inconvenient of times.

"Alas, to my great disappointment, it is nothing invasive," Chakwas returned in a droll deadpan. "I'm just going to run some diagnostics on your implants, and it'll take a few readings." Passing her omni-tool over Shepard's upper body, she allowed it to scan the Commander's information into the program. Then, letting out a series of beeps, the program began to spit out a scrolling sequence of readings, which Chakwas studied, her expression impassive, making it difficult for Shepard to clue in on what was going on on the screen. "Good," Chakwas finally conceded, turning her attention back to Shepard as her omni-tool flickered out at her side. "Your implants are showing little sign of rejection. There are a few anomalies I will have to study and get back to you on, but for the most part it looks as if your body has accepted the Cerberus upgrades. You appear to be the picture of health."

"I don't feel like the picture of health," Shepard replied, making a face.

"Well, this was only a test to see if your implants were working correctly," Chakwas admitted. "Would you like me to run an organic medical test, to see if I can figure out what's making you so ill?"

"I…" Shepard started to say, but her voice quickly trailed off, her gaze shifting from Chakwas' face to the medbay window behind her, where she could clearly see Javik staring back at her from the mess hall. His bright yellow eyes were fixated on her, though the rest of his demeanour could not have seemed less interested. Still, Shepard could not help the feeling that he had no intention of leaving his post anytime soon, and especially not for the sake of making her feel any more comfortable. "Maybe some other time," she answered, offering Chakwas an awkward, apologetic half-shrug. "A little bit later. When we can have, uh… a little more privacy."

Chakwas raised her pencilled brows, surprised. Then, turning, she looked to see what it was that was putting Shepard so on edge, and, spotting Javik, she let out a soft, unsurprised little sigh before crossing her arms and turning her tired attention back to Shepard. "Yes… he does that," she conceded. "I don't much care for it, but I figure as long as he's out there and I'm in here he can't really do much to disrupt my work."

"I guess that's true, but… I'd still feel weird getting a checkup with him watching me," Shepard admitted, making a face as her gaze drifted back to Javik, who still had not moved from his sombre, brooding perch. "I do want that checkup, though, so… I'll come back."

* * *

The dish Gardener had prepared for their lunch that day was chicken soup, or at the very least, a creamy, broth-like formula that _smelled_ like chicken soup. Soup, it seemed, was the only meal which trial and error had proven to be the one thing Shepard could consistently keep down, and though she knew that meat rations were so low that there was no way there was any actual chicken in the recipe, she still suspected that Gardener had probably caught wind of the fact that she had been feeling under the weather recently, and this was his way of showing that he could always be counted on to help in any way he could. It was a gesture she would be sure to give him proper thanks for later.

Javik stood in a corner of the mess hall, his thick, plated arms folded sternly across his tapered breastplate, his hard yellow eyes watching Shepard as she ate. Across the table, Liara sat motionless, her spoon poised, ready, in her delicate hand, watching Javik even as he watched Shepard, until finally, realizing he was being observed without his consent, the prothean gave a derisive snort, turning away from the two of them and heading towards the elevator to go back to his room on the floor below.

"He does that," Shepard told Liara, breaking the silence, repeating Chakwas' dismissive sentiment as she glanced up at her friend from the line of her bowl. Bringing another spoonful to her mouth, she blew on it, cooling it, before taking the bite and returning the spoon to her lunch, stirring the ingredients together to even them out.

"Why?" Liara asked, her malt-blue eyes fixed on the elevator, as if staring hard enough at it would grant her the ability to suddenly see through to the other side. "Did you say something to him to make him do that?"

Shepard shook her head, poking at her bowl of soup before bringing up another spoonful, blowing on it, and downing it as well. Liara watched her for a moment, as if expecting more. Then, seemingly no longer hungry, the asari set down her spoon, instead folding her soft, gloved hands in front of her, her heart-shaped blue lips pursing into a thin line. Shepard paused in her eating, looking up at Liara for a moment in an attempt to read her. Then, her brows drawing together into a faint, somewhat confused frown, she sat back in her chair, blinking a few times before setting down her spoon on the mess table with a bemused clatter.

"You're jealous," she said suddenly, sounding surprised by the revelation. Liara turned her head sharply at this, seeming almost startled, but said nothing, her only reaction the gentle raise of her thin, painted brows. Shepard scoffed, an incredulous, humourless smirk splitting her face as she rested her elbow on the table in front of her. "You're actually jealous that Javik is paying attention to me," she said, shaking her head. "Unbelievable, Liara. Absolutely unbelievable."

"That's not true," Liara snapped, her gentle, wispy voice suddenly curt with embarrassment. A faint purple hue had risen to her freckled, light-blue cheeks, and she quickly looked down at her hands in her lap, trying to hide the blush, but to no avail. "I… I simply wish he would be more open with me, that's all," she said, her voice rushed with humiliation. "He seems to have taken quite well to you, and I… I just wish he would do the same for me." Looking up at Shepard again, she twisted her hands together, her thin fingers lacing and tangling between each other as she wrung them anxiously.

"I only want to study him," she said. "I just want to know more about his culture, about his life, about _him_ , but he… he just makes it so _difficult_ for anyone to get close to him. But you, with you he… he…"

"He stares at me from across the room," Shepard interjected, her incredulous frown deepening. "He makes weird, vague statements about me that I can't figure out, and then treats me like I'm stupid when I ask him what he means." Leaning back in her chair again, she retracted her hands, lacing her fingers together over her ribcage before giving a tired, indifferent shrug of her thin shoulders. "He's hasn't _taken quite well_ to me at all, Liara," she said, waving a dismissive hand in Liara's direction before allowing it to fall to rest again. "If anything, he's messing with me, and it's driving me nuts."

"Messing with you how?" Liara asked, picking up her spoon and beginning to skate it distractedly over the milky surface of her broth, disrupting the surface. "What exactly does he say?"

"He keeps making really strange comments about my 'physical condition'," Shepard answered frankly, her gaze fixed distractedly on the spoon in Liara's hand. "Sometimes it's not so bad. Sometimes he'll just tell me I should probably lie down for a while, which—"

"Is nice," Liara provided.

"Is kinda considerate, I guess, sure," Shepard consented. "I don't always feel particularly _tired_ when he tells me to do it, but I guess I might look more tired than I feel sometimes—"

"You do look tired quite a lot," Liara agreed.

"Thanks," Shepard returned, trying hard to hold in a dubious little laugh. "Sometimes, though, he'll tell me things like… that I should get myself checked? That something about me is off, or seems off, or however he says it, and that I should probably correct it as soon as I can. But Chakwas said there was nothing wrong with my implants, so as far as I can tell I'm still in fit fighting shape."

"You haven't been feeling well lately, though," Liara told her, matter-of-factly. "You told me so, yourself."

"I'm getting better," Shepard countered. "Besides, I hardly need some Prothean sixth sense to tell me I've got a common stomach bug. I could kinda figure that one out for myself."

"It seems to me like he's only trying to help," Liara replied, finally taking a spoonful of the soup she had up to this point only been playing with. "Nothing to be so offput about. Seems to me you're overreacting to something as simple as polite concern on his part."

"Polite nothing," Shepard scoffed. "He told me that whatever it was that was throwing me off physically was messing with my brain chemistry as well. He basically called me sick and crazy, Liara, and he refuses to tell me what he means by it apart from that. I have no idea what I'm doing wrong that he's so tied up in knots about, and _he won't tell me_."

"Perhaps that's part of his culture," Liara suggested, lifting her malt-blue eyes to Shepard's face, something patient and motherly in her tone that only served to make Shepard even more irritated. "Perhaps he doesn't know any better to clarify. Perhaps you should ask him what he means."

"He knows, Liara," Shepard returned. "He knows perfectly well. He does it on purpose."

Liara gave a gentle, frustrated little sigh, leaning one elbow on the table and dipping her spoon back into her soup bowl, stirring it around once before picking it up and blowing on it gently again. "I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree on that point," she answered, simply, before bringing the soup to her mouth.

"Yeah," Shepard agreed, looking down and stirring her soup absentmindedly, no longer hungry. "I guess so."

* * *

The door to Javik's room slid open with an easy hiss, and instantly a fine wave of mist wafted out, curling around Shepard's ankles and enticing her inward. The entire atmosphere of the room was thick, warm, and humid, the cool vapour settling heavily on her skin as she entered, and she could not help but feel an odd sense of displacement as she moved further into the room, looking around for its occupant. The room had completely changed since the crew of the Normandy had housed Grunt in here almost half a year ago; the windows looking out into the hangar had been sealed up with metal tiling, making the room darker and almost claustrophobic, and the hardtop artillery tables had been converted into what looked like small water basins, their surfaces disturbed by a series of tiny, constant ripples from what appeared to be some sort of self-contained filtration system. Javik stood in front of one of these basins, washing his hands in the near-still water, his four bright yellow eyes fixated on his repetitive task. As Shepard approached him, she could see the faint shift in his demeanour, his rigid shoulders straightening into a hard line as the obvious sound of her footfalls on the grated floor reached his ears.

"Can I help you, Commander?" he asked, not bothering to turn to look at her as he spoke, the wariness in his voice poorly masking how completely disinterested he was in whether he could actually assist her or not. Shepard faltered, a bit taken aback, before regaining her composure and propping her hands on her hips, casually authoritative.

"You can," she answered, straightforward. "And you can start by explaining to me why you seem to take so much issue with me lately."

For an instant, Javik was quiet, considering her forthright answer. Then, lifting his hands from the basin, he shook them out, beginning to dry them. "Issue?" he asked, innocuous, wringing the remaining moisture from his hands back into the reflecting pool. "I have no _issue_ with you, Commander."

"Clearly you do, Javik," Shepard retorted, irritated by his false indifference. "Clearly something I did is bothering you. Otherwise why would you be acting the way you have for the past week? What did I do to cause you to have such animosity towards me?"

"I do not understand, Commander," Javik answered her, still vague. "I have not been acting any particular way, either this past week or otherwise. However, if you believe there is an issue with my behaviour, I will gladly take note of it and attempt to correct it in future—"

"I'm not in the mood to play games right now, Javik," Shepard cut over him, feeling her frustration levels begin to mount the longer he denied his nettling behaviour. "If you just tell me what's wrong, maybe we can straighten this whole thing out. We're both professionals; we can settle this thing like professionals."

"There is nothing to _settle_ , Commander," Javik returned, his attention still fixated on his hands. "I told you before; I have no immediately pressing issue with you." He was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, considering the rippling reflection pool. Then, turning to face Shepard, he stared at her, his expression direct. "I merely question certain of your decisions," he told her, frank. "And I wonder if you truly understand the repercussions that may result from such. That is all."

Shepard faltered, a bit shocked by his answer. Not that she had expected something different, admittedly, but the way he had worded his concern made it sound almost, as Liara had forcibly implied, _polite_. However, even under the guise of a well-meaning worry, there was something unmistakeably needling about his implication, something notably pointed and derogatory, that made her metaphorical hackles stand on end. "If you've got a problem with me as a leader, Javik, you can tell me to my face," she quickly shot back, finally fed up with the maddeningly repetitive conversation. "I'm sick and tired of talking in circles with you. Either tell me what your issue is, or stop brooding around like you've got a bone to pick. I honestly don't care which one you do at this point. I just can't take any more of this cryptic, passive-aggressive bullshit."

For a moment, Javik seemed taken aback, each of his gleaming yellow eyes seeming to flicker independently as the uncomfortable staring match dragged on, his six eyes evenly matched against her intense two. Shepard clenched her fists, refusing to back down, until Javik finally broke the silence, giving a dismissive huff of breath from between his tightly-filed teeth. "I suppose I simply do not see the merit of cross-species proliferation, Commander," he informed her, sounding just as poised as ever. "And I wonder what _you_ see in it that makes it so appealing to you that you continue to carry on with it, despite the inevitable ramifications."

This had been the last answer Shepard had expected to hear, and she faltered, taken aback, her hands unclenching at her sides as she took a step backwards, dropping her defensive stance. Pursing her lips, she ran the question over in her head, trying to come up with an appropriate response, but, she was finding it hard to shake his irritating, self-righteous attitude on the subject. While she knew she had a responsibility to be a leader to her crewmembers, she was also well aware that that responsibility came with the expectation that they would offer the same sense of camaraderie in return, a sense of camaraderie that was sorely lacking in Javik's pointed criticism of matters that neither involved him, nor concerned him.

"What I do in my spare time has no effect on the quality with which I perform my duties," she finally told him, stern. "Should it ever begin to have some effect on the quality of my work, I will attend to it at that time. But until such a time arises, and such a dilemma presents itself…" Taking a step forward again, Shepard leaned in towards Javik, setting her jaw, causing him to lean back away from her slightly, wary. "Stay out of my goddamn personal business," she told him, firmly.

Javik frowned, his wide, scalloped mouth drawing into a thin, taut line as he stared at Shepard, unsure of what to say in response. Then, finally, he gave another indifferent snort of breath, before lifting his chin proudly and turning his gaze away from her. "Yes, Commander," he said.

"Good," Shepard answered, taking her defensive step backwards again. "Now suit up. We're about to reach Sur'Kesh and you'll be coming planetside with me and Liara."

"I do not like salarians," Javik argued, the edges of his upper lip curling in disapproval. "Or asari. Especially your asari."

"I don't remember asking," Shepard returned, indifferent, before turning away and starting to head towards the door of his quarters. "Now suit up. Drop is in twenty minutes. See you in the hangar."

* * *

Shepard wiped a thin film of saliva from around her mouth with the back of her wrist, making sure for the hundredth time that no trace of vomit still clung to her lips or chin as she made her way down to the hangar to prepare for the drop onto Sur'Kesh. A feeling of imminent, debilitating nausea had struck her down just as she had started to change out of her casual garb and into her armour, and she had spent the next ten minutes curled around the bowl of the toilet trying to feel normal again. The sickening feeling had not completely passed by the time she forced herself to her feet again, slugging her way slowly but surely through the donning of her armour, but by the time she checked her finished appearance in the bathroom mirror, making sure her assembly was in smart order, the unexplained nausea had died down enough that she felt assured that she did not have to worry about it rising back up again during the course of the mission.

As far as she was concerned, the last thing she needed was her teammates worrying about her over something as embarrassing as puking during a gun fight. With any luck, they would be able to stop off in a major marketing port after this mission and she would be able to pick up some standard flu medicine to help quell the nauseating feeling her body had been plaguing her with since their return from Manae. The idea had crossed her mind that perhaps this sickness was something she had caught while on the turian moon, and she had almost brought the possibility up to Doctor Chakwas more than once, but the probability of her catching a virus in a war zone, not to mention an alien war zone with alien viruses, was so completely slim that she felt foolish even thinking about it, and had quickly pushed the thought to the back of her mind, along with her feelings of worry that the nausea might pop up again at the most inconvenient time during their upcoming mission.

She knew well enough that worrying only served to make matters worse, but it was still undeniably one of her biggest flaws – Shepard was a worrier at heart.

Cortez and Liara were already waiting for Shepard when she arrived in the hangar. She could hear Liara's silvery chuckle from the elevator, reacting to something Cortez had said, but the conversation volume was too low for her to hear any of what was actually being said otherwise. The subject matter did not seem to be too important, however, as the conversation was quickly dropped as soon as the two spotted the Commander, Cortez returning to his task of checking the engines one last time for debris as Liara approached Shepard, offering her a soft, genial smile.

"Wrex is already on board," Liara informed her, motioning towards the Kodiak with a thumb over her shoulder. "Didn't feel like waiting around like the rest of us… what did he call us? Nearsighted plebeians?"

"That sounds like Wrex," Shepard commented, hardly able to contain a fond smirk. "Is everybody else ready to go, too? Got everything? Your weapons and everything?"

"Triple-checked and loaded," Liara replied reassuringly. Glancing back towards the elevator, she considered it for a moment, waiting for the last of their party to come down and join them, but, after a moment of nothing happening, she turned her gaze back towards Shepard again, folding her arms and giving a soft, patient little exhale. "Feeling okay?" she asked, offhanded, trying awkwardly for casual conversation while they waited.

"Feeling just fine," Shepard answered, brusquely. She checked the mods of her Avenger distractedly, trying hard not to appear paranoid over what was likely just a throwaway question. "Where's—?"

"He said he'd be down shortly," Liara answered, propping her hands on her hips and giving a pensive little twist. "Just getting a few last-minute things done."

Shepard frowned, jamming the brunt of her palm against the side of the Avenger, making sure everything stayed in place, before returning it to the magnetic holster on her back. "You talked to him?" she asked, listening for the lock to click into place.

Liara hesitated, seeming taken aback by the question. "Yes," she replied. "Is that unusual?"

"And he… talked back?" Shepard asked.

At this, Liara frowned, confused, and crossed her arms across her chest, cocking her head to one side. "Yes," she answered. "Why shouldn't he?"

"No reason," Shepard answered quickly. "I just didn't realize you were quite so chummy with—"

"We ready to go?" Garrus' voice was bright and eager as he sauntered into the conversation, his rifle clutched fondly between his clawed fingers. "Just needed to finish up a few things in the gunnery control," he explained, giving a dismissive toss of his crested head to one side. "You know how that is. Always busy down there."

"Garrus?" Shepard asked, frowning, confused.

"Present," Garrus quipped. "Kind-of a last-minute notice you had here, though. Almost didn't make it. Not that I mind, just – would prefer more prior warning next time. Make sure I'm not in the middle of something when it's time to suit up and go."

"Garrus… what are you doing here?" Shepard insisted. "I thought I told Javik to—"

"Javik told me you wanted me to suit up and head down here," Garrus answered, checking the mods of his rifle to make sure they were all still firmly in place. "Conveyed your message just fine, to his credit. Still a little weird, since usually you're the one to let me know the game plan, but I figured you were busy and asked him to do it for you. Not my first choice for a messenger, but beggars, choosers…" Collapsing his rifle again, he tucked it over his shoulder, listening for the magnetic locks to click into place before letting go of the grip. "First time I've seen him out of his quarters in a while," he added, offhanded. "Almost jumped out of my skin when he started talking to me. Didn't even realize he was there at first. You have to admit, the guy's unnaturally quiet for an alien his size."

"Quiet isn't really the word I'd use for him," Shepard returned, irritated.

"SHEPARD!" Wrex leaned his broad head out of the Kodiak, causing the vehicle to give a creak and a groan as it leaned faintly to one side under the krogan warlord's weight. "GET YOUR ASS IN HERE AND LET'S GO!"

"I'm _coming_ , I'm _coming_!" Shepard called back, shifting her weight backward onto one foot. "Don't get your quad in a twist!" Then, waving an apathetic hand in the direction of the elevator, she turned away from the gathered party, starting to head towards the Kodiak instead. "Let's just get this thing over with," she sighed. "I don't have time to deal with this now. I'll figure it out when we get back." Climbing aboard the ship, she dropped herself into one of the seats, taking hold of a vertical railing and stretching her legs out in front of her with a sigh. "Shouldn't take too long," she added, more to herself than to her team. "It's just a standard pickup mission."

"That's what you said about Akuze, too," Wrex grunted.

"Thanks, Wrex," Shepard retorted, shooting him an irritated look. "That was really helpful."

"'S what I'm here for," Wrex answered with a dark chuckle. "Just doin' my job."

* * *

Shepard could have sworn that their arrival on Sur'Kesh had been double, triple, and quadruple checked, but it seemed that somewhere along the line, a dire miscommunication had still taken place, as it was to a cold welcome of beady red sniper sights that the Kodiak hovered in towards the landing pad. Wrex, unimpressed with the salarians' idea of diplomacy, had taken it upon himself to speed the process along in the only way he knew how – without subtlety. As could be expected, this only served to make matters even worse, as the krogan's rash entrance only seemed to stir up the salarian panic even more, the alarmed, high-pitched whining of guns powering up reaching Shepard and crew's ears even before the Kodiak had finished fully landing.

Diplomacy had never been Shepard's strongest suit, and as such she was convinced that it was nothing short of a miracle that she managed to talk herself and her team out of immediate dismissal from the planet's surface following her krogan crewmate's hot-headed show of theatrics. It was with a sense of gritted-teeth accomplishment that she finally found herself free to roam the research facility, her reinforced underarmour sticky against her skin in the planet's humid, green atmosphere. She felt uneasy among all the salarian computer research stations, as if she might break something merely by touching it, and so it was a welcome distraction when she saw something out of the corner of her eye that she finally recognized – a familiar, green-brown salarian with a distinctive scaling pattern on his forehead, crouching over a hub, tinkering distractedly with something inside.

Moving up behind the salarian at the circuitry hub, Shepard smiled, propping her hands on her hips and giving an easy chuckle of greeting. "Captain Kirrahe," she said, getting his attention and causing him to turn to face her, surprised. The surprise soon vanished from his face, however, as soon as he saw who it was who was addressing him, and he quickly got to his feet, brushing himself off distractedly. "Didn't expect to see you hanging around this nerd station," Shepard commented, looking him up and down. "You look good."

"It's Major Kirrahe now," Kirrahe answered with a smile, offering Shepard a warm, familiar handshake. "And keeping track of nerds is what I do. You should know that better than anyone, Commander. I helped your team out on Virmire, after all."

"You helped us?" Shepard asked, returning the friendly handshake. "I think you mean we helped you. Who's the nerd now?"

Kirrahe chuckled, shaking his head, before turning his attention to two figures approaching from behind Shepard. Shepard did not even have to turn to know her teammates were behind her – the familiar sound of the hefty chinking and flapping of their outfits was more than enough to alert her to their presence. Without waiting for an invitation, Garrus stepped forward past Shepard, holding out a friendly hand towards Kirrahe. "Good to see a friendly face, Major," he said, obviously having listened in on Shepard's earlier faux pas. Shepard could hardly contain a smart, playful remark about him being a kiss-ass, but she held her tongue, not wanting to spoil the pleasant reunion.

"Garrus Vakarian," Kirrahe exclaimed, taking the hand offered him and giving it a hearty shake. "Always a pleasure. And the same to you, Doctor T'Soni."

"Major," Liara returned with a smile.

"It seems the Reapers have a way of bringing us together," Kirrahe commented, lighthearted.

"Sure seems that way," Shepard answered, wondering inwardly how much more small talk was socially necessary before she was allowed to delve into important questions. She had little time for chit-chat, and even less intuition on the correct way to do it. Her mother had always taught her to get to the heart of the matter first, and worry about the niceties later – work before play. "How'd you get posted to this base, anyway, Major?"

"I led the team on TuChanka that found the females," Kirrahe told her, matter-of-factly. "Nasty business. Maelon may have meant well, but his operation was crude. Test subjects were unaccounted for. The females easily escaped his lab."

"And what do you think about bringing the female krogan here?" Shepard asked. She was glad that Kirrahe was as much a military professional as she was, and had no problem tackling hard questions head-on – it made talking to him about things that mattered that much easier when she did not have to skirt around the issue.

"Our scientists say it's important to preserve the females," Kirrahe answered, sounding suddenly oddly detached from the subject as he raised his hands to form half-hearted air-quotes. "'Evolutionary paradigms'. I say when people know you're hiding something valuable, they'll want to steal it. Either way, I have my orders. They'll be your problem soon enough."

Recognizing this send-off as her invitation to leave the conversation, Shepard nodded, curt but professional. "Good seeing you again, Major," she told him, starting to turn away, but Kirrahe's hand suddenly shot out, resting on her shoulder, causing her to turn back towards him again.

"Commander," he said. "Listen. Regardless of what the politicians decide, you can count on my support retaking Earth."

Shepard faltered, taken aback, blinking a few times in an attempt to regain her composure. "You'd do that?" she finally asked, her brow furrowing.

"Consider it my way of returning a favour," Kirrahe replied, taking his hand from her shoulder to grasp hold of her own hand and give it a good, reassuring shake. "It would be an honour to fight alongside you again—"

"Commander Shepard."

Shepard and Kirrahe both turned at the sound of her name, just in time to see a second salarian approach them, stepping self-importantly between Garrus and Liara to reach the Commander. He was younger than Kirrahe, with dark reddish-brown skin and a higher, harsher voice, and as soon as Kirrahe saw who it was, he frowned. "Ah, yes," he said, trying his hardest to sound professional, but Shepard could tell he was none too thrilled to see this new arrival. "Shepard, this is Lieute—"

"I'm Lieutenant Tolan," the younger salarian cut him off, not even bothering to look at Kirrahe as he rounded on Shepard, isolating her from the rest of the group. "I've heard about your exploits against the Reapers."

"All of it good, I hope?" Shepard replied, half-joking, offering the new salarian her hand, but he did not return the gesture, simply letting it hang awkwardly in the air, unattended.

"Your mission on Virmire holds special renown in STG," Tolan responded, sounding thoroughly unimpressed by this fact. "The assistance you lent our team then tipped the balance. But now I'm not so sure."

"The Commander has done nothing but help our cause," Kirrahe informed him, clearly trying to keep his irritation in check.

"The Commander has revealed the existence of krogan who are immune to the genophage," Tolan returned, unmoved. "Word will get out. She's made us into a prime target. And you're not helping by supporting her."

"This is the only way to get the turians and krogan to cooperate," Shepard countered, wondering if her attempts at diplomacy would make any difference at all when not even Kirrahe seemed able to get through to this hardheaded irritant.

"And us?" Tolan retorted, turning his attention sharply back to Shepard. "Will we pay for your political expediency?" He scoffed, giving Shepard a dirty, disapproving look. "The krogan females from Maelon's experiments should have been eliminated when we found them on TuChanka," he told her. "Unfortunately, our scientists wanted them brought back for study. Waste of time, if you ask me. I don't need science to know that fertile krogan will be dangerous. I hope we don't pay for misguided mercy."

"Lieutenant," Kirrahe cut over him, loudly, causing Tolan to turn his censorious attention back towards the Major. "Why don't you take the Commander and her team down to the labs? I'm sure the four of you will have _plenty_ to talk about on your way down there."

Tolan bristled at this suggestion, momentarily appearing as if he were ready to stand his ground and tell the Major he could take the team down to the lab himself if it meant so much to him – but then, begrudgingly seeming to realize what a terrible decision that would be, he instead deflated a bit, turning his large, almond-shaped eyes towards Shepard and her team. "Come with me," he told them, sullenly, before turning on his heel and starting towards a long, wide hallway lined with what appeared to be cages and tech stations. Shepard clenched and unclenched her hands anxiously as she walked, taking in the containment posts and trying in vain to read the text on each screen as they passed.

The sound of machines whirring and whining overhead was almost overwhelming to her senses, and Shepard could not help but wonder if this was normal for a salarian research base, and if so, how long it took the salarians to get used to all the noise, or if their hearing was simply less sensitive than hers in general. A high-pitched shout of "Careful! Watch the containment shield!" suddenly caught her attention, and the Commander and her party faltered before allowing a wide berth around an electrically-charged cage as it docked into one of the empty slots along the wall. Inside the cage, an angry-looking, nude brown-grey yahg fought to retain its footing as the cage locked into place beside all the others, the yahg howling angrily at the onlookers as it tried to figure out how to free itself.

"Brings back memories," Garrus commented, wary.

"Yes," Liara agreed, frowning gently. "I had hoped to never see one of those again."

"Who is the overseer for these yahg?" Shepard asked, straightforward, trying hard to hide her mortification. She had no interest in earning herself a reputation as a soft-shelled bleeding heart, but she still could not help but feel that, as savage a species as she knew the yahg to be, there was no reason for any creature, especially an intelligent creature, to be treated that way.

"That would be Padok Wiks," Tolan answered, the name sounding bitter on his tongue. "He's a quack, and a twisted one at that. Wasting everyone's time and resources trying to prove some… crazy theory on evolution. Disproving natural mutation as being the primary contributor to the evolution of the species, or…" He hesitated, before waving an irritated, dismissive hand. "Ridiculous theory," he said, curt. "Doesn't matter. Waste of time."

"Only to those with little vision and even less patience," a voice from behind them argued, causing the four of them to turn simultaneously to see who had spoken. The new salarian was light brown, almost beige, with one horn of his crest curled almost entirely inward; his eyes were narrow and shifty, but he did not seem nervous or devious, only awkward. "I am Padok Wiks," the salarian introduced himself, evenly, holding out a hand for Shepard to shake. "And the work I do here is just as important as anyone else's. Don't let this naysayer tell you otherwise."

Tolan scoffed, giving an agitated little shift, before shaking his head and waving an indifferent hand in Wiks' direction. "Fine," he told him. "Why don't you take them down to the lab, then? Give them a tour. Show them exactly what kind of work it is you do around here." Then, before Wiks could protest, he turned away, shuffling off past Shepard and her team and back towards his original post.

"He couldn't get rid of us fast enough, huh?" Garrus commented, causing Shepard to give a soft snort of agreement.

"Oh, don't mind him," Wiks told them, shaking his head as he returned his attention to the three visitors. "With war on everyone's minds, our people are understandably on edge. If you'll follow me, though, I'll go ahead and take you down to the lab. Get you set up. Show you around a little bit."

"Actually, we're just here to see the female krogan," Shepard told him, having to skip half a step to keep up with his eager pace.

"Oh," Wiks returned, sounding only a little bit disappointed. "Well, in that case, I'll send a request for clearance. That part of our lab is our highest security. Everyone needs clearance before they're allowed down – even you, Commander. Even me."

"Fair enough," Shepard answered, nodding.

"I can't think of any reason Mordin wouldn't let you come down, though," Wiks added, punching the request into his omni-tool. "He's been pretty good about letting people come down to see the female krogan. Says it's important for her to be well-socialized while tests are being run on her so she doesn't wither away from a lack of emotional connection, or… something like that."

"Mordin is here?" Shepard asked, barely able to contain her excitement at the prospect of seeing another familiar face. "Right now? In the lab?"

"Yes," Wiks replied, allowing his omni-tool to flicker out again at his side. "I've heard the two of you have some history, Commander. Something about… Collectors? A suicide mission?"

"Something like that," Shepard answered, vague. The thought of seeing Mordin again was enough to give her spirits a much-needed lift, and she quickly caught up to Wiks' stride again with a newly revived, bouncing spring in her step. "So, Wiks," she said, wetting her lips as she tried in vain to find a place for her hands, flustered, before finally just letting them clench loosely at her sides. "If you don't mind me asking – what kind of work goes on here, exactly? Tolan wasn't exactly forthcoming with the details."

"No, he never is," Wiks replied, sighing. "If you ask me, it's because he doesn't _know_ all the details. Trying to save his posterior from embarrassment. But, to answer your question, evolutionary trials are the majority of what goes on here. Morphological simulations. Exogenetic assessments."

"And what type of work do _you_ do here?" Shepard asked, wishing suddenly that she had not brought quite so many guns with her. The way this salarian walked, it was no wonder he was so notably thin. "Tolan was just telling us your main body of work has to do with… evolution…?"

"Evolutionary intervention," Wiks answered, giving a curt nod. "My government calls it 'uplifting' – guiding the development of other species to suit our own purposes. Until recently, I evaluated life-forms to determine whether they were suitable for uplift."

"You don't anymore?" Shepard asked.

"My work raised more questions than it answered," Wiks replied, frankly. "Now I'm searching for the underlying principle that directs evolution itself."

"In the yahg?" Shepard asked.

"Why not?" Wiks challenged. "Discovering the process of evolution is a major breakthrough in _any_ species' development. Why should the yahg be any different?" Finally reaching the elevator, he stopped, turning to look back at his tagalong group, thoughtful. "I differ from most of my colleagues in this regard," he informed Shepard, solemn. "I believe that curing the Genophage will bring closure to the whole issue, this… ridiculous congenital rivalry between krogans and salarians. In the future, the krogan may yet play some role we can't even imagine. We should let the evolutionary process decide who lives and dies, not galactic politics. Alienating them now, when we have the chance to fix things instead, will only cause us undue headache then."

"And you believe the same to be true about the yahg?" Liara asked, her brow furrowing, doubtful.

"What _is_ it that all of you have against the yahg?" Wiks asked, exasperated.

"Experience," Garrus answered, frankly.

"Listen," Wiks said, suddenly dead serious, pointing a reproving finger. "I worked as a scientist for the STG at the same time as Mordin Solus. I helped with the Genophage, although I disagreed with it, and I also helped in the search for a cure, however disappointing the outcome was and continued to be, because I believed in it… but it was never my passion. Evolution is, and always has been, my passion." Dropping his hand back to his side, he let out a sigh, considering them, wondering if they were worth explaining his ideas to at all. "My previous career, before all of this, before STG, revolved entirely around the ideal of uplifting lesser species," he told them, self-opinionated. "In fact, I was one of the highest-regarded experts on the subject. Which is why that is now my current area of expertise."

"What made you decide to quit the STG?" Shepard asked, shifting uncomfortably to try to pry some pockets of cool air free in her skin-gripping underarmour. "That seems like the perfect place to study the evolution of the species."

"It's not the same thing at all, Commander," Wiks answered solemnly, holding up a hand and shaking his head. "I regret _deeply_ all of the work I did during my time working for the STG, and I wouldn't go back if given the chance. The work we did there… it was a terrible mistake, a terrible blow to the evolutionary process of a species we once worked so hard to uplift. My fellow salarian STG members were… _arrogant_ , honestly, to believe they had the _right_ to interfere with the destinies of the krogan in such a way – or any other lesser species, for that matter. As a result of what they'd done, what we'd done, the krogan grew too smart too fast, and began using technology we weren't prepared for them to use before they, themselves were fully prepared to begin using it. Their ambition overpowered our readiness."

"Which was bad news for you," Shepard returned, following along.

"And which is exactly what I'm trying to prevent with my work with the yahg," Wiks told her, nodding his head. "They're already intelligent, they pick up on things very quickly… but, unfortunately, they're a _savage_ race. If we can teach a select few particularly clever ones to be more civilized, then who's to say that in four, three… maybe as few as two generations, we won't be calling their race our allies? Trading with them, allowing them political sway?"

"How is that any different from what you did with the krogan?" Shepard asked. "Giving them the knowledge to compete with the rest of the galaxy before they're fully prepared for it…"

"It's—it's not the same," Wiks explained, exasperated, fidgeting as he tried to find a comfortable resting place for his thin, anxious hands. "The yahg – they're not capable of developing the way the krogan have. They're incredibly self-reliant. Have you ever heard of a network of yahgs?"

"I've heard of a yahg's network," Garrus answered under his breath, causing Liara to smack his arm lightly with the back of her hand, scolding.

Just then, Wiks' omni-tool gave a soft beep, and he looked down at it, checking it, before shaking his head and letting his tool collapse again. "Nevermind, it's—nothing. Nevermind," he said. "Clearance has been received for you to head down to the labs. All it needs is a retinal scan to make sure you are who you say you are."

"As opposed to what, a clone?" Shepard joked, stepping up to the retinal scanner attached to the elevator doors. With one quick sweep of the laser reader, the scanner gave an approving beep, and the projected holo-lock on the elevator door turned green, indicating that the weight sensors would now work. No sooner had the hefty elevator door opened for her, however, than a loud, blaring bass of an alarm began to go off, reverberating through the research station and causing a startled flock of winged fauna to take flight out of a small gathering of nearby trees. Turning quickly, alert, Shepard watched as a salarian aerial craft took off, followed by another, the automated voice over the P.A. system announcing that a threat condition had been declared and calling teams to respond.

"What's happening?" Shepard demanded, rounding on Wiks, ready to reach for her gun should the situation call for it.

Wiks faltered, bringing up his omni-tool again, and checked the automated feed, frowning concernedly. "Sensors have picked up activity on the perimeter," he answered quickly, looking back up as he let his omni-tool flicker out again. "We should get moving, Commander." Ushering Shepard and her crew into the elevator, Wiks, pressed a button on the wall, sending them down towards the bottom floor, before stepping back to his original place, trying hard to keep from fidgeting anxiously. "Hopefully this is nothing," he added, more in an effort to reassure himself than his companions.

"Hopefully," Shepard agreed, wary.


	5. WEEK TWO, Pt.2

Unfortunately, the alarm had not been, as Wiks had hoped, nothing.

As little as Shepard or any of the members of her drop team would have liked to admit it, getting the female krogan off of TuChanka had been no easy feat. Their happy reunion with Mordin down in the labs had been painfully short-lived, as, less than five minutes after the initial alarm had begun to blare, warning the inhabitants of the building that they were under attack, Cerberus had shut down the main power grid to the research facility. The speed with which they had managed to locate and disable this was cause enough for alarm in itself, but it seemed their troubles with the power system were not fated to stop there.

The sudden lack of power to the building had caused the electronically-operated doors and elevators to lock tight, cutting off their easiest access routes, and, worst of all, it had caused all the electric-structure cages to power down, releasing all of the angry, pent-up yahgs that Wiks and his team had been supposedly trying to 'uplift'. Shepard and her crew had encountered one of these yahgs on their way to the top floor, but it had only seemed interested in staring them down for a frozen moment, learning each of their faces, before darting off, tossing its hefty weight across the room with its gorilla arms before disappearing through a self-made hole in the opposite wall.

"Careful, there goes the next Shadow Broker," Garrus had quipped, always the comedian.

"That's not funny," Liara had objected.

"It's a little funny," Garrus had returned.

"No," Liara had said. And that was the end of that.

The fact that salarians seemed to have a thing for huge, open windows had been both a blessing and a curse in this instance – while Shepard could still be thankful that it was broad daylight outside, thereby making the sudden lack of interior lighting only an inconvenience at best, the giant panoramic windows meant it was that much easier for Cerberus troops to drop in at any moment and surprise their party. Things got even tougher on the second level, where Shepard had developed a sudden stitch in her side after ducking a little too quickly into cover, but she had powered silently through it, not wanting to slow down the mission due to a minor inconvenience like a pulled muscle. She was Commander Shepard, after all – that, and she knew that if Garrus ever found out she had gotten winded on a routine mission, she would never hear the end of it.

By the time they reached the third level, Mordin had managed to turn on the emergency power and had begun rerouting what he could to the female krogan's containment pod. It was a hard uphill battle getting to the fourth level and taking out Cerberus' big guns after that, but they had managed to pull through with some help from Mordin and Wrex. Wrex had also attempted to help himself to the female krogan after all was said and done, but it seemed she wanted very little to do with it, or him – and so, with Mordin and the female krogan now in tow, the battle-worn party had made their way back to the Normandy for some much-needed respite and care.

It did not take long for Mordin to take up his familiar post in the Normandy's infirmary, much to Chakwas' dismay on the subject. She was not a fan of being displaced, it seemed, though she admitted that not having medbay duty meant she had much more freedom to move around the ship and mingle. "Which would be ideal, admittedly," she had said to Shepard, crossing her thin legs delicately at the ankles as she sat at one of the mess hall tables, idly entertaining herself with a crossword puzzle on her omni-tool. "If only I actually mingled."

"Don't feel like rubbing elbows with the common folk?" Shepard had joked, leaning on her palms against the cool metal surface of the mess table.

Chakwas had looked up at her at this, seeming a bit taken aback, as if not understanding the joke at first. Then, taking a deep breath, she had let it out in a soft, wistful sigh. "You know that's not right," she had replied, turning her attention back to her crossword puzzle. "I just… I'm not a very good conversationalist, Shepard. That's all there is to it." At this, she had paused once more, before turning and looking up at Shepard again. "You know how that is," she told her, matter-of-factly.

Shepard faltered, unsure how to respond. Then, finally, she had answered, haltingly, "Yeah." It was not an insult, after all – merely the truth, as Chakwas knew. While Shepard had a gift for giving courage-inspiring speeches to rally her troops, when it came to interpersonal reactions like smalltalk, she often froze up, unsure of what to say.

Reaching out an understanding hand, Chakwas had patted the Commander's hand with it, offering up a sympathetic smile. "Good talking with you, Shepard," she had told her, genially, before turning away and returning to her crossword puzzle once more.

"Yeah," Shepard had responded again. Then, realizing the conversation to be over, she had turned to head back to the medbay, eager to check in on Mordin and see how the female krogan was faring.

Mordin was consulting with the female krogan at the far end of the medbay when the doors parted to allow Shepard inside, and though she only managed to catch the tail end of the conversation, it was pretty easy for her to figure out what the two had been talking about before her arrival. "Aware krogan females find scars attractive," Mordin said, staring interestedly down at his digital clipboard. "Garrus loyal, reasonably intelligent. Bit aggressive… almost like krogan."

"For the third time, Doctor," the female krogan retorted, her voice gruff with irritation, "I'm _not interested_."

Mordin retrieved his datapad, taking a quick breath inward, before turning to look at his newest visitor. "Shepard," he said, moving away from the female krogan and towards the Commander, seeming almost glad for a break in the conversation. "Good to see you. Was worried you might be Urdnot Wrex. Glad to see you aren't."

"Wrex came by earlier?" Shepard asked. It was hardly surprising, considering, but she had to wonder why she had not heard about it from Wrex before hearing it from Mordin. She guessed he did not want to make it too common of knowledge that he was cooperating with the salarian doctor for fear that harmful and slanderous rumours might start to surface – like that the leader of the famous Clan Urdnot was actually compliant and cordial.

"Wanted to make sure female was being taken care of," Mordin specified. "Understandable. Still, distracting. Unpleasant. Left without giving tissue sample."

"He'll be back," Shepard assured him.

"Has to be," Mordin replied, matter-of-factly. "Can't cure genophage without his sample. Still, wish he were more cooperative. Female of the species much more agreeable."

"Aren't we always?" Shepard joked.

"Not necessarily," Mordin answered, pragmatically. "Females sometimes irrational ones. Send crew on suicide mission. Take on Reapers single-handedly. Not always best decision-makers. Excellent leaders, though."

"Flatterer," Shepard chuckled, folding her arms over her chest. "So what's the story on the female, then? Anything you can tell me? Any new developments I should know about?"

"Ran bloodwork on female krogan," Mordin answered, his voice suddenly dropping so that only Shepard could hear the conversation. "Results indicate significant stress on Eve's system. Maelon's data thorough – fortunately, detailed as well. Used notes to improve her condition."

"Eve?" Shepard asked.

"Yes," Mordin answered, indicating no obligation to explain further.

"Have you determined why _Eve_ is immune?" Shepard asked, giving up on her previous inquiry.

"Genophage targeted hormone production during pregnancy," Mordin replied. "Modification project used same modality. Her 'immunity' totally different. Targeted glands now obsolete. Like human appendix. Other glands mutated to produce proper hormones. Enable viable birth. Also explains her weakness. Gland substitution imperfect. Health trouble."

"You think you can make this work for all krogan?" Shepard asked, eagerly.

"Yes," Mordin answered, sounding hopeful, tucking his hands keenly behind his back. "Can use Eve's tissue to produce mutagen. Alter gland function across entire species." He hesitated a moment, mulling this over, before finally adding, thoughtfully, "Must improve mutagen as well. Tune hormone production. Long-term illness for all krogan otherwise."

Shepard nodded, thankful that Mordin seemed to know what he was doing better than she ever could – to her, the idea of creating a cure for an entire species from scratch was nothing short of incredible, but to him, it seemed like just another cheerful science experiment. Mordin had a way about him that made everything seem like a science experiment to him, a trait Shepard had found to be offputting at first, but which she had grown unexplainably fond of over time. Wetting her lips, she took a step forward, clearing her throat and leaning in towards him. "Listen," she said. "Mordin. I don't want to interrupt your work, but… if you've ever got some time, after you get the cure figured out and if you don't mind…"

"You have medical discrepancy, I assume?" Mordin asked, cutting her off, not even bothering to keep his voice down anymore.

Shepard hesitated, considering whether to answer truthfully or to lie and let him get back to work, before clearing her throat and nodding, rolling her shoulders back. "Yes," she answered, candidly. "But it's really not anything important, honestly. It can wait until after you're done curing the ge—"

"Can take a look right now, if you like," Mordin told her, cutting her off again. "Commander's health important to mission. Can't have leader getting sick. Bad for crew morale." Picking up a needle, he held out a thin hand for her arm. "I'll just take some blood," he told her. "Run some tests. Be back to health in no time."

"No, it's… it's not that," Shepard said, but before she could object, Mordin had already pressed the needle into the crook of her arm, drawing a small amount of blood, before sliding it into the base of the metal bar along the edge of his datapad and letting it read the results. Retrieving her arm, Shepard pressed the pad of her opposite thumb to the bloody pinprick, making a face. "Mordin, it's… it's a different kind of problem," she told him. "It's a… it's more like a… _skin_ problem. A surface ailment."

"Show me," Mordin replied, direct, setting his datapad aside on his desk and making a gesturing motion for her to bring forward her wounded body part. "Show me epidermal issue."

"No, Mordin, it's…" Shepard winced, glancing over her shoulder towards Eve before looking back at Mordin again, almost pleading with him. "It's a skin problem… _down there_ ," she specified, muttering through gritted teeth.

"STD?" Mordin asked.

"N… no," Shepard faltered, taken aback, pulling her thumb away from the crook of her arm. "It's just… I just have a rash, is all. I don't think—"

"Show me," Mordin insisted. "Can't diagnose what I can't see. Take off pants. Show me rash."

Shepard hesitated, unsure what the right thing to do was in the current situation. Then, giving a short, capitulating sigh, she began to unfasten her pants. "I just want you to know," she told both Mordin and Eve, trying to stay lighthearted, "this is my first time getting naked in front of a salarian and a krogan at the same time."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Mordin answered, waving his free hand matter-of-factly. "Krogan also female. Shouldn't mind. Good getting-to-know-one-another ritual."

"Do you undress in front of your male friends a lot, Mordin?" Shepard joked, starting to pull her pants off, one leg at a time. "As a getting-to-know-one-another ritual?"

"Male friends, no," Mordin answered, half-joking. "Female friends, more likely. _Very_ good getting-to-know-one-another ritual. If you catch my drift."

"I caught it, don't worry," Shepard replied, grinning and folding her pants in half before tossing them onto the empty hospital cot across from the female krogan. Glancing back towards Eve, she offered her an apologetic smile, feeling suddenly self-conscious, her hands drifting backwards in a half-conscious effort to cover her posterior from view. "Sorry about this," she said.

"I don't mind, Commander," Eve replied, unruffled. "It's not an unpleasant view."

Shepard chuckled, letting her hands fall back to her sides again, before turning to face Mordin, her fingers starting to trail down the interior of her thighs, searching for the familiar texture of the rash. "There," she finally said, tapping her fingers against the patch of raw skin. "Right there. What is that? Is it something I should be worried about?"

Bending forward to get a better look at what it was she was indicating, Mordin paused, staring at the remnants of the rash, and tapped one tapered finger against his weak chin, his umber eyes narrowing as he observed the unusual colouration. "Hm," he commented, curt, before seeming to appear satisfied with his observation and turning away from her again.

"What is it?" Shepard asked, surprised by the short examination, bending to look at the gap between her legs and running her fingers along the rash before straightening again to face the salarian doctor. "Is it bad? Will it scar?"

"Scarring highly unlikely," Mordin answered casually, pulling a small, white box from a shelf of the infirmary and setting it on the counter. "Rash merely superficial. Allergic reaction. Only outermost layer of epidermis effected. Flesh wound. Not serious." Popping open the top of the standard-issue medical kit, he removed a compact tube from it before closing the lid and sliding it onto the shelf once more. Then, turning away from the counter, he held out the tube towards Shepard, who took it, only glancing at it momentarily before setting it aside on the cot with her pants. "Regular applications of medi-sav should do the trick," the salarian doctor informed her, giving a faint bob of his head. "Rash should clear up in a few days."

"That's all?" Shepard asked, surprised by the short timeframe.

"If proper care is taken," Mordin replied. "Don't forget to apply medi-sav daily." Then, turning, he caught sight of Shepard distractedly scratching her rash, and reached forward, giving her upper arm a scolding tap. "Don't scratch," he told her. "Tap instead. Much better for recovery time."

"Accidentally ordered the wrong lube from Fornax magazine, did you, Commander?" Eve asked, amused.

Had Shepard been drinking anything at the time, she would have spit it out all over her lap. As it was, she nearly choked on her own tongue at these words, and for a moment, she could do nothing but stare. Finally, clearing her throat, she wet her suddenly dry lips, giving a hoarse breath of a laugh as she sat down on the cot across from Eve's, her hand resting anxiously on her small, assigned tube of medi-sav. "You… you know about Fornax magazine?" she asked, trying to veer the conversation back towards something a little less personal.

Shifting her seat on the cot, Eve gave a deep, knowing laugh, shaking her broad head, causing her headscarf-bangles to jingle with the motion. "Just because I am a shaman does not mean I am not _informed_ , Commander," she answered. "Many of the men on Tuchanka have subscriptions to it. Even the most disciplined of male krogan have needs, and ever since the genophage forced us to separate the females into specialized camps for their own protection, away from the fighting, and the politics… and the men…" Here she paused, as if to give her statement some extra modicum of weight with the telling silence, before taking another deep breath. "Sometimes rather deficient substitutes – like Fornax – are all they have when… more preferable alternatives are not readily available to them."

"Grunt had copies of asari issues," Mordin put in, not pausing from his busywork, seeming completely unfazed by the conversation at hand. "Back when he was part of crew. Kept them hidden under floor panels. Asked me about asari physiology once. How I came to learn about them. Not sure how he got hold of them." He paused then, looking up from his work to take a long, nasal breath, before turning his intelligent auburn eyes onto Shepard, pinning her to her seat with his gaze. "Think he might have stolen them from you, Shepard," he said.

"What, because I had an asari girlfriend once, suddenly I'm subscribed to a magazine for softcore asari porn?" Shepard gave a light, dismissive laugh, looking downward towards her bony knees and shaking her head, though she could not help the sinking suspicion that some of her less reputable habits were more common knowledge than she would have hoped. "Mordin, please. Do you really think so little of me?"

"Not at all," Mordin replied evenly, completely unfazed. "Merely a guess. Seeing as how these particular issues had 'deliver to: Commander Shepard, SSV Normandy' printed on them." Turning away from Shepard just in time to miss the bright pink blush that had risen to her ears and cheeks, Mordin pulled up the hologram keyboard of his work-station computer with a wave of his hand, quickly busying himself with his work. "Of course, could be mistaken," he added as an afterthought. "Could be a different Commander Shepard on the SSV Normandy."

"How does one retrieve mail when one is in space?" Eve asked suddenly, and Shepard could not help but let out a small sigh of relief at the change of subject. "It seems like a great deal of trouble to track down a ship that could be anywhere in the galaxy just to deliver a simple package or magazine. I do not envy that postmaster's job."

"We only ever receive digital mail while we're actually on the move," Shepard explained, turning to face Eve and offering her a faint, explanatory shrug of one freckled shoulder. "For tangible mail, we have a post box on the Citadel designated for the crew of the Normandy. If somebody wants to send something to one of the crew, they can send it there. If it's imperative to get it picked up in a timely fashion, they usually send an accompanying e-mail to let us know to stop by and pick it up." Reaching to the inside of her thigh, she started to scratch at the rash, but then, remembering Mordin's scolding, she began to tap it gently instead, and was surprised when the tapping actually worked to sooth the itching as the salarian had said it would.

"Aside from that, we usually only pick up our tangible mail maybe once a month," she finished. "If that. It's not always convenient to drop by the Citadel, so we go whenever we get a chance."

"And just frequently enough for the Commander to get her monthly subscription to Fornax magazine," Mordin chimed in just loudly enough for both women to hear, clearly enjoying the friendly torment far more than he was willing to let on. Eve chuckled at the teasing comment, and even Shepard could not keep a good-natured, if still faintly embarrassed, smile from curving her rouge lips upward into her dimpled cheeks.

Just then, the sound of an electronic chime reached her ears, and she turned her head towards the sound, noting that the screen of Mordin's previously abandoned datapad had suddenly turned bright blue. Picking up the datapad, Mordin scowled at it, taken aback, scrolling quickly through a wall of tiny white text Shepard could not make out from her seat halfway across the room. "What?" Mordin suddenly breathed, stopping in his scrolling to squint concernedly at a block of symbols and numbers. "But that— makes no sense. Impossible. Can't be right. No, no. Test must be mistaken. False reading. False positive."

"What is it, Mordin?" Shepard asked, starting to get to her feet, but Mordin quickly crossed to her, pushing her gently back down onto the cot.

"Hold still," he instructed, curtly. "Have to take blood again. Strange reading. Have to make sure it's not right."

"What _is_ it, Mordin?" Shepard insisted, more forcefully this time, watching as Mordin took another small vial of blood from the crook of her arm and inserted it into the metal siding of his datapad. "What does the bloodwork say?"

"Bloodwork says you are pregnant, Commander," Mordin answered, swallowing. "Or at the very least, body is showing symptoms of pregnancy. Unsure if pregnancy is actually legitimate just yet. May be symptom of stress. Body releasing hormones due to… lack of sleep, or…" He shook his head, dumbfounded. "Unsure," he repeated. "Not right. Not _right_."

Shepard faltered, shellshocked by the news. Then, scoffing, she let out an incredulous bark of a laugh, flexing her arm, her thumb planted distractedly against the pinprick of blood. "That's—that's ridiculous, Mordin," she said, shaking her head. "There's just no way that's right. I can't possibly be pregnant. The only person I've had sex with recently is—"

"A turian?" Mordin asked, looking up at her, concerned.

Shepard hesitated, the smile starting to drop slowly from her face. "Yeah," she said. "Garrus. That's—how did you know…?"

"Test confirms presence of dextro-amino anti-bodies in bloodstream," Mordin answered, holding up the clipboard for her to see, but even up close the text still appeared as gibberish to her. It took her a moment to realize that while her omni-implant helped her to understand salarian spoken language, it was helpless to let her read their written text. "Indicative of ingesting, or absorbing, some kind of dextro amino substance," he clarified further. "Could also be quarian, but figured more likely to be turian. Knowing you." Retrieving the datapad again, Mordin studied it closely, his brow furrowing darkly as he waited for the second test to run its course. "Of course, more likely that it is merely a fluke," he commented, sounding admittedly less than hopeful. "Could be getting false readings from surface toxins. Manae full of toxins. May have entered bloodstream. Given false positive."

"I _have_ been feeling kind-of sick since coming back from Manae," Shepard agreed, optimistic. "I had originally planned to ask Doctor Chakwas about it, but I figured—"

Just then, the datapad chimed again, cutting her off mid-sentence, and all three medbay inhabitants' eyes suddenly snapped to it, anxious for the results. Bringing the datapad up, Mordin began to scroll through the tiny white text, before finally seeming to find his result and taking a deep, perturbed breath. "Test confirms… pregnancy," he repeated, turning his umber eyes up towards Shepard again, stunned. "Don't know how, but… Commander Shepard… you are pregnant."

Shepard clenched her hand, shaking her head as she wet her dry lips, her mind suddenly going completely and utterly blank. "There's… there's just no way," she said, the words sounding far away, as if someone else were speaking them from somewhere in the next room over. "There's just no way that can be right… I just… I mean… can it?"

Setting down the datapad on his desk again, Mordin began to pace slowly, thoughtful, one arm crossed over the curved line of his chest, the other hand reaching up to stroke his weak chin. The results of Shepard's latest bloodwork continued to scroll lazily down the blue screen of the datapad, every so often causing the screen to pulse lighter or darker. "Should not have compiled," he mused, short, shaking his head. "Should have caused negative reaction. Should have cancelled out effects entirely, caused extreme internal pain, ignored or even destroyed…" Stopping in his pacing, he leaned on the desk, taking a long breath, the dark lines of the markings over the crests of his brow drawing together in a deep frown.

"Startling," he breathed. "Unnatural."

"So what should I do?" Shepard asked, her usually strong, assured voice oddly stilted, as if she were doing everything in her power to keep it from shaking with nerves. She was in shock, but she was not about to show it to be a sign of weakness. Mordin would figure this out, she told herself. Mordin always knew what to do, and as long as Mordin knew what to do, then she had no reason to panic just yet.

"Nothing," Mordin answered simply, seeming almost surprised by the apparently unnecessary question, the ridge of his brow rising. "Nothing to be done." He shrugged, giving a light push off the line of the lab table to return himself to an upright stance, before moving down the length of the table to his customary workspace. "Foetus will most likely die on its own," he continued, his discourse curt, almost detached. "Assemblage of cells to initiate growth in the first place was happenstance. Freak accident. Will more than likely sort itself out in time."

"Wait, wait," Shepard said, holding up her free hand to stop him from continuing. "Did you say… foetus? As in… something has already actually _formed_?"

Moving a hand to her flat stomach, Shepard suddenly felt the taste of bile at the back of her throat, threatening to choke her in her own, unexpectedly sudden fear. She was a soldier, valiant in the heat of battle and stalwart in the face of adversity, but even for a fearless leader, this was something else entirely. She was not cut out for this. She had faced her fears head-on, taken down the most terrifying of beasts and brutes and battlemasters, seen things that would make those of a lesser constitution cry and wet themselves but which she had taken on unflinching, and she had defeated them with an easy smile, going on to live and fight another day as if it had been nothing at all.

But this, the thought of a baby forming inside of her, something so small, so delicate, so incredibly harmless in and of itself, even for the fearless Commander Shepard, was utterly terrifying.

Suddenly, Shepard felt Eve's gaze on her, and she hesitated, preoccupied, before turning to look at her. Eve had not moved from where she sat, her wrapped feet tucked up comfortably towards her on the infirmary bed, staring at Shepard over the heavy, dark-blue folds of her sari, her piercing yellow-green eyes peering out from beneath the adorned drape of her headgarb, the hand-crafted gold tassels throwing a faint, soft shadow across what was visible of her face. Shepard's hand moved half-awaredly across her stomach, her thin fingers curling against the soft flesh as she stared at Eve, their gaze unflinching as the two women locked eyes from across the room, saying nothing but understanding everything. Then, clenching her hand into a fist, Shepard dropped it back to her lap, averting her green gaze from the krogan's stare.

Another long, telling moment of silence passed between them, before Eve lifted her head a bit, causing the golden tassels of her head-scarf to jingle faintly. "You are blessed, Commander," she suddenly said, breaking the silence that filled the infirmary.

Shepard looked up at these words, startled, and turned to look at Eve, her brow furrowing into a hard, confused frown. "What did you say?" she asked.

"You are blessed," Eve said again, giving a gentle bob of her head that caused the tassels to jingle once more. "The krogan consider it a blessing from the gods when one of our females become with child. The gods have blessed you with the gift of life. Do not take this blessing for granted."

Shepard quickly turned, looking over in Mordin's direction, but the salarian refused to make eye contact, instead continuing to work raptly on his medical calculations. Then, turning back to Eve, Shepard stared at her with a tired, distant gaze, her frown softening into a mask of weary indifference. "I don't think it's the same thing for me as it is for you, Eve," she said.

"It is life begetting life, isn't it?" Eve questioned, her tone still calm and sensible as ever. "No matter the species, human or krogan, when one person sacrifices of themselves to bring another life into the world, it is a miraculous and wonderful thing. Don't you agree, Commander?"

"Wouldn't go so far as to call it _life_ , per se," Mordin interjected, quickly overriding Eve's sentimentality. "Would say, is in the _process_ of _becoming_ life. Will most likely not succeed in forming completely." With a quick wave of one hand, he brought up the hologram keyboard of his laboratory computer and began to peck at it, his thin, pointed fingers flying across the keys, inputting data, multi-tasking, as he always did, as if what he were talking about was nothing more than another crew member suffering from a common cold. "Miscarriage almost certain," he went on, his manner extraordinarily unmoved for such a morbid topic of conversation. "Unsure of when it will occur. Wouldn't estimate too long, however. At the most, a few months. At the least, a few days."

"A few _months_?" Shepard grit her teeth, her thin hands curling around the edge of the cold, metal infirmary table, trying her hardest to mask the awful, twisting sensation she now felt, as the thought of the child who was never meant to be, and now would never have a chance to be, filled her. A cold, queasy feeling crept up from the pit of her stomach, threatening to make her vomit right there in the infirmary, though whether that was nerves or standard nausea, she had no way of knowing. Swallowing back the retching sensation, Shepard looked up at the salarian doctor again, her green eyes meeting his sienna and black ones, a range of mixed and confused unspoken emotions. She wanted to say something, anything, to fill the awful, finalistic silence that now filled the sickbay, but there was nothing to say, and she knew it.

"Let's say… I want… to keep this baby," she finally said, breaking the cold, saturnine silence. "Just… as an option. A matter of perspective. …Is there any way to prevent the miscarriage? Anything at all?"

"Nothing I know of," Mordin answered honestly, shaking his head, his lids flashing upward, his wide mouth drawing into a hard, thin line. "Could perhaps look into it. Would require extreme caution. Lots of medication, likely unpleasant. May cause physical harm to mother if allowed to gestate internally."

"What other options would I have?" Shepard asked, frowning.

"None," Mordin replied. "Or, none plausible. Could look into alternative incubation methodologies… foetus would likely not survive transfer, however. If not transferred to amniotic tank, would probably require no unnecessary strain on mother's body for entirety of pregnancy, if pregnancy is allowed to continue. Unnecessary strain would disrupt foetus. Fragile as is. Disruption would destroy it." At this, he looked pointedly up at Shepard, his expression the closest she figured she had ever seen to some sort of disapproval from the usually unreadable salarian. "Unlikely Reapers will wait nine whole months to attack, however," he told her.

"Nine months," Shepard repeated, the words feeling almost like a death sentence as they fell from her lips. It had never truly occurred to her before then just how long a stretch of time that was, and Mordin was absolutely right – the Reapers were not going to wait around until it was convenient for her to fight them. They were coming quickly, and the galaxy was depending on her to stop them.

"Merely an estimate," Mordin was quick to amend. "Could be shorter, could be longer. Unsure of gestation period of interspecies offspring. Turians grow and develop slightly faster than humans. Mature at sixteen years, rather than eighteen. Unsure how that will affect hybrid foetus."

"Baby," Shepard suddenly corrected him, oddly curt. The word sounded odd, rolling off of her tongue, and under lighter circumstances she might have smiled at the strangeness of it, but the gravity of the current situation made even the most bizarre phonetic phenomena seem all too grave. She was still numb to the idea of having something growing inside of her at all, but while she was not normally one for terminological sentimentality, for some reason, she found his cold, scientific lexicons irksome, in the current situation.

"Either way," the salarian doctor said, all but disregarding her odd correction. "Even if it were to be carried to term – implausible – the child would likely die not long after birth. Can only do so much. Not a miracle worker." Giving a wave of his hand, he dismissed his hologram keyboard, letting it flicker and vanish into the smooth, clean surface of his work-table, before looking up at the pale Commander with hard, professional sienna eyes. "Would be kinder to terminate pregnancy now, I think," he told her with a solemn, even stare. "Better for everyone. Save grief on all fronts. Get it over with."

"Get it over with?" Shepard asked suddenly, looking up at the hard phrasing, a hint of ire in her voice.

"Please, excuse," Mordin was quick to correct himself, lifting his hands towards her, his tone as calm and professional as ever. "Poor choice of words. Simply meant, would be better to remove foetus before it has a chance to fully form. Before you have a chance to get attached to it."

Shepard frowned, her hand moving across her still-flat stomach. Seeing this action, the salarian doctor sighed, offering his best attempt at a look of sympathy to the Commander, but with his particular, alien mien, it seemed so stilted and forced that Shepard almost wished he had not tried at all. "Would be best for all to terminate now," he repeated quietly, his tone one of practiced, if rusty, understanding. "Stop Reapers. Save galaxy. Then perhaps try again when it's over."

"But…" Shepard said, shaking her head in confusion. "I thought you said this was a freak occurrence. That… medically speaking… it never should have happened."

"Yes," Mordin confirmed with a curt nod.

"Then if I terminate now…" Shepard hesitated, her voice trailing off, before looking down at the polished lab table at her own reflection. It was the same face as ever, the same hard, green eyes, pinched, the same sarcastic lips, the same high cheekbones and field of freckles, but for some reason, it seemed different now, tired, older. She saw her mother's face in her reflection, kind, stern, judging her, and for a moment she was mesmerized. Then, taking a deep, steadying breath, she looked up again, meeting Mordin's gaze once more, her expression oddly unreadable. "…Who's to say I'll ever get this chance again?" she asked, quieter.

"Can't say," Mordin answered truthfully. "Possibly – probably – won't. Was never meant to happen. Chances of it happening again… a trillion to one. Maybe less. Don't know. Couldn't tell you." Folding his thin hands together on the work-desk, he stared at the Commander, evenly, his lids flickering closed every so often to moisten his otherwise unmoving, strangely non-judgmental eyes. "Your choice, Shepard," he said. "Save millions of faceless innocents… or just one, very special one."

Shepard paused a moment, considering these odds, and then looked down at her abdomen, her second hand moving across the smooth, freckled surface of her skin as if trying to imagine what was just underneath. She had never even considered motherhood before now, had never thought about retiring from the Alliance and settling down somewhere to grow old and raise a family. The whole scenario had seemed too saccharine-sweet to her, and not appealing in the least. She had laughed dismissively whenever her mother had told her that having her had been the best part of her life, figuring that there had to have been a million more amazing things she had done in her career in the Alliance Navy, but now, for the first time, the lines between what looked good on an intergalactic military resume and what was really important were beginning to blur, and she had no idea how to feel.

It was as if her entire world had been turned upside-down in the span of just a few simple sentences, and she was left floundering with a decision too big for her to make alone.

"I don't know," she finally whispered, hearing her voice crack for the first time since hearing the news. "I just… don't know what to do."

For a moment, Mordin hesitated, unsure of how to react in the situation. Then, ,oving over to her, he put his thin hands on her shoulders, as reassuring as he knew how. "Take time to think," he told her, gently. "Can decide later. Should decide soon, however. Easier to deal with when in primary stages of development." At this, Shepard looked up, making a face, causing Mordin to quickly amend himself, "Statement applies whether you decide to keep or not. Will need sufficient prenatal care if kept. Best to begin in earliest stages."

Shepard frowned, trying to search the salarian's gaze for some sort of answer to her dilemma, but, as she had suspected, she found nothing there to help her. To Mordin, and to most people, the answer would be obvious – termination was the only logical thing to do. But something was holding her back from making the choice right then and there. Perhaps it was guilt, the idea that an entire species had suffered infertility for so long that any child, unexpected, deformed, or fragile, would be precious to them, and yet here she was thinking about terminating something so incredibly unique that she was still having trouble wrapping her head around the idea that it was not only actually happening, but that it was happening _to her_.

Her gaze flicked away from Mordin and towards Eve, who was also staring at her, willing her to make the right decision. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Shepard picked up her tube of medi-sav, sliding off of her cot and onto her feet, a shock running through her body as her bare feet touched the cold, sterile floor. Picking up her pants, she began to pull them on, one leg at a time, before bending over to pull on her boots. The thought that in a few months' time she would no longer be able to do that was terrifying – the idea of being in any way debilitated, especially in a time of such intensive war, was almost enough to make the decision for her – but, straightening up again, she bit her lip, taking a deep, determined breath.

"I need some sleep," she announced, her voice hoarse. "I'll think about this when I've had some… time, to… get my head on straight. Get a better perspective after a few… hours'…" Her voice trailed off, her gaze dropping to a spot on the far wall, not willing to look either of them in the eye.

"…Rest," she said, quietly.


	6. WEEK THREE

The Petra Nebula was easy enough to find on the star map, but it took a fair bit of checking to figure out where to go from there to get to Grissom Academy. Despite all she had heard about the institute, and despite being a biotic herself, it had never actually occurred to Shepard to visit it. By comparison, the station was barely bigger than the Normandy itself, a pinpoint in an infinite sea of space, but, thanks to EDI's help at the helm, the time it took to find it was cut down immeasurably. Before long, the Normandy's approach slowed to a drift, and then a crawl, before finally stopping short, hovering uncertainly a fair distance away from the Grissom Academy space station.

Joker frowned, pointing to the large white ship and cluster of sleek, weaponized ships hovering in a suffocating ring around the academy. "There's the folks that answered the distress call," he said, turning to look back at Shepard. "Cerberus cruiser. At least a dozen fighters on blockade duty." Giving a huff of breath, he drummed his thumbs against the armrests of his chair, weighing the options, trying to decide what the best course of action would be, but seemingly unable to come up with anything brilliant. "Too many for us in a straight-up fight…" he mused, shaking his head, frustrated. "They must want this place bad."

"Receiving incoming transmission," EDI provided, her deft fingers sweeping across her co-pilot keyboard, honing in their systems on the transmission signal.

"Let's hear it," Shepard answered, moving up behind Joker's chair and leaning on the headrest, poised.

The transmission faltered a moment, the radio popping as the signal fought to break through obvious interference. Then, "SSV Normandy, this is Kahlee Sanders, director of Grissom Academy. We need immediate assistance. Cerberus is attacking the facility. They're after my students."

Shepard frowned, feeling a sudden burst of ire clenching at her heart. It was not surprising that Cerberus had decided to attack a sanctuary for biotics too young or inexperienced to know how to fend for themselves, especially after what they had done to Jack, but the ever-sinking depths of their depravity never ceased to boil her blood nonetheless. "This is Commander Shepard," she answered, raising her voice to make sure she could be heard over the flimsy signal. "We're blocked on the direct approach."

"I know," Kahlee answered, sounding more resigned than alarmed. "They've taken control of our docking bay."

"Any alternatives?" Shepard asked, hopeful, drumming her fingers anxiously against the headrest.

Kahlee hesitated, thinking, the line going dead silent for a moment before her voice returned again. "There's an auxiliary cargo port I could probably open…" she said, sounding tentative. But tentative was better than nothing.

"All right," Shepard answered, pushing herself away from the pilot's chair to start towards the hangar, ready to go. "We'll come in by shuttle and get your students out of there. Joker, can you give me a diversion?"

"Oh, boy!" Joker grinned, pulling himself around in his chair to look excitedly back towards the Commander, his green eyes lit up eagerly. " _Can_ I!"

* * *

The door of the Cerberus shuttle hissed shut on the last student boarding, the boosters firing ear-splittingly into life as the shuttle lifted off the docking floor and turned sharply towards the exit, cruising into open space. Shepard lowered Rodriguez from her shoulder onto one of the seats, still short of breath, before lifting a hand and pressing it to the comm device clipped to her ear, paging the Normandy's frequency. "Joker, we flew out on a Cerberus shuttle," she reported, curt. "Watch your fire."

"Right, I've got you on sensors," Joker answered quickly. "Should just be a minute. Hang on."

Shepard nodded the self-affirmative. Then, turning, she finally allowed herself to drop down into a seat opposite the students, looking over the small class of biotics they had managed to cramp on board the shuttle. Kahlee Sanders sighed, relieved, as she looped one thin arm around a silver pole framing one side of the shuttle door, steadying her still-shaking frame. "Thank you, Commander," she said, giving Shepard an grateful nod. "We would never have gotten off that station if you hadn't come."

"F—forget that," Jack retorted, incredulous, quickly catching herself before dropping a curse. "We kicked some ass! Next place we dock, you're all getting inked. My treat." Taking a quick, cursory glance across her students, she raised her scarred brows, clearing her throat. "What do you guys want?" she asked. "Ascension Project logo? Glowing fist? …Maybe a unicorn for Rodriguez?"

"Screw you, Ma'am," Rodriguez answered, smiling embarrassedly.

"I can't believe we got them out alive," Kahlee repeated, stunned, smiling at the lighthearted banter between the younger biotics. "I was going to suggest that they stick to support roles, but… perhaps they're ready after all."

Shepard frowned, uneasy, glancing over towards Jack to try to gage her feelings on the matter, only to find that Jack was already looking at her, waiting anxiously for her decision. She could see in the young woman's face that she was just as hesitant about the idea of the fledgling biotics being put into the front line as Shepard was, but it was also clear that she trusted Shepard's judgment implicitly, whatever she might decide. Turning back towards Kahlee and the students, Shepard took a deep breath. "They're definitely ready," she concluded. "But the Alliance needs them in a support role."

"What?!" one of the male students retorted, huffing indignantly. "We trained for artillery strikes!"

"We don't need another artillery unit," Shepard returned, evenly. "We need stronger barriers for our frontline squads."

"This is bullshit!" Rodriguez argued.

"Hey!" Jack shot back. "If that's where they need us, that's where we go." She paused a moment, before a sly, knowing half-smirk crossed her painted lips. "Besides," she added. "I'm sure we'll get some shots in."

"Commander, we've got a visual on you now," Joker's voice suddenly fizzled over the ship's intercom. "Preparing to dock. –Hey, Jack, now that you're military, are you going to wear a uniform, or are you just getting the officer's bars tattooed on?"

"Screw you, f—flight lieutenant," Jack shot back, barely catching herself before dropping another swear. Biting her lip, she made a face, inwardly cursing herself for sounding like an idiot, and Shepard could hardly contain an amused little smile.

Joker laughed over the intercom, sounding taken aback, before asking, incredulously, "Uh… what the hell was that?"

"Jack promised to watch her language in order to maintain the necessary professionalism we need from our teachers," Kahlee explained, trying hard to hold back a smile of her own at Jack's expense. Jack, meanwhile, pursed her lips, looking like a red-faced child in a candy store who had just been told her allowance had been severely cut.

"What, does she have a swear jar or something?" Joker asked, altogether too amused by Jack's plight. "'Cause I bet if we emptied that thing, we could afford another cruiser. Hah!"

"Cover your ears, kids," Jack finally shot back, fed up. "Hey, Joker! F—"

* * *

The videocomm conversation with Hackett was shorter than usual. After explaining what they had done and how they intended to use their newfound allies to bolster the war effort, Shepard had half expected for Hackett to tell her that what she had done had been too risky, or too much effort for too little payoff, or something else indicating that she had taken precious time away from the collecting of resources for the Crucible. Instead, he had simply nodded, looking thoughtful, before taking a deep breath and telling her, "Good work, Shepard." And that had been it.

The war room never seemed to be quite empty whenever she managed to get around to visiting it – there was always someone checking up on the resources, or using one of the comm posts, or running numbers in one of the sunken support stations. Despite being a war room, the atmosphere was calming, a heady silence broken only by a soft whirring and beeping sound every so often in predetermined intervals. Victus stood at the far end of the asset model, watching in thoughtful silence as a team of tiny hologram ships blipped across the screen, the partially-completed model of the Crucible spinning slowly in the centre of the system.

Moving past him, Shepard made her way to where Wrex stood at one of the comm consoles, perusing aimlessly through his e-mails, as if staring at them long enough would make something new appear, something, anything to let him know how things were going on his homeworld. She knew the feeling too well. "Hell of a showdown on Sur'Kesh," Wrex suddenly spoke up, turning his attention away from the console to look at her. "Just like the old days, Shepard. Right down to me pulling your ass out of the fire."

Shepard hesitated, caught off guard, before loosening up and offering him an incredulous smirk. "I was the one with bullets flying at me," she returned, glad that he was not upset at her for seemingly spying on him.

"And I gave you the moral support to dodge them," Wrex answered, teasingly.

"Uh-huh," Shepard said, sarcastic.

"I hear you pulled quite a stunt at Grissom Academy, too," Wrex added, exiting out of his e-mail to turn to face her entirely. "Saved all their asses. Young biotics… they're gonna be a good resource in this war. You can never have too many biotics on your team."

"Some might disagree," Shepard answered, shrugging.

"Then they don't know what they're talking about," Wrex grunted.

Shepard gave a soft, amused breath, tucking her hands anxiously into the pockets of her hoodie, before her brow furrowed and she bit her lip, thoughtful. "You said one of your squads is missing?" she asked, moving the subject away from Grissom Academy.

Wrex hesitated, glancing over towards Victus, making sure he was not listening in, before turning his attention back to Shepard, more serious now. "They were scouting out the Rachni relay," he answered, his voice lower, so that only she could hear. "We've heard rumours of trouble in the area."

"Rachni?" Shepard asked, surprised.

"Thought that might get your attention," Wrex answered. "I have a… favour, to ask. It's big."

"Don't tell me they're back," Shepard said, dreading the answer.

"All I know for sure is our scouts went silent as soon as they arrived. I've got Arlakh Company, my best unit, on standby. You give the word and I'll meet you there."

"I'll see what I can do," Shepard answered. "But… how could there be trouble with the Rachni? They were all but extinct. The last queen promised to disappear forever or be destroyed."

"I know, I was there," Wrex returned. "I've got a bad feeling about this. May not be Rachni – but maybe it is. Could be another invasion. If they're crawling out from under some rock, you know how bad it can get. We need to stop them."

"Agreed," Shepard answered. Falling silent, she fidgeted, wondering if there was anything she was forgetting or if it would be appropriate to leave the conversation. She had never been an excellent judge at that sort of thing, even around friends. "Was there anything else you needed me for?" she asked, finally breaking the awkward silence. "Or…?"

"Nah," Wrex answered, giving a tired wave of one clawed hand and turning his attention back to the e-mail station. "Just that. Which, thanks, by the way. In advance."

"Of course," Shepard said, starting to turn away as well.

"Oh, and, Shepard?" Wrex added, catching her attention again, causing her to turn and face him once more, raising her brows, expectant. "I like what you've done with the Normandy," he told her. "Got tired of always hanging around the cargo bay before. I still don't have a window, like Liara does, but… maybe that's because I don't kiss as well."

"No comment," Shepard returned, deadpan.

"Yeah?" Wrex laughed, shaking his broad head as he turned back to his e-mail console. "I missed this place."

* * *

Garrus had already returned to his post by the time Shepard found her way down to the gunnery bay. It was not exactly a chance encounter, as her intent had been to find him, but it was still lucky that he happened to be in the first place she looked for him. He was dedicated to his job in the gunnery, which was good, because he was the best one on the ship at it, but it still amused her a bit just how often she seemed to find him down here. He had told her once that busywork helped him not to worry so much, and that doing the same thing over and over calmed him. She figured that he had a lot more to worry about now than usual, so busywork was as good a way as any to keep him grounded, and stop him from losing his mind with anxiety over his sister, his father, and his homeworld.

"Hey," Shepard greeted him, softly. She did not want to startle him in the middle of his important work.

Garrus turned, glancing up from his work only momentarily, before returning his attention to the calibration screen. "Hey," he answered, preoccupied.

"What're you up to?" Shepard asked, resting her chin against one of the outcrops of his rigid armour. At five-foot-eight, she was far from tiny in stature, but compared to Garrus' six-foot-eight she was just barely tall enough for her head to clear his shoulder, something she had had to get used to since getting to know him more intimately. It was not terribly hard for her to adapt, but it still became awkward when she tried to do the normal things couples did with him, only to have him be too high in the sky to effectively reach.

Garrus took a deep breath, still not looking away from his work, before giving a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders. "Just… thinking," he said, cryptic.

"What about?" Shepard asked, turning her attention to the calibration screen to see if she could figure out what he was working on. As usual, not much of it made sense to her, but she could tell he was working hard, regardless.

"This war," Garrus answered, truthfully. "All the kids caught up in it. Grissom Academy. My sister. Older sister, but… still. All the young people." He made a few more distracted keystrokes, focused on his work, but then stopped, letting out a soft sigh and turning to look at Shepard, letting the text crawl slowly up the screen, unattended. "One of the worst parts of this war is watching the kids react," he told her, resting his hands on the edge of his console, one clawed finger tapping gently against the glass, absentmindedly. "If they're lucky, they grow up thinking the galaxy is basically a decent place – some rough spots here and there, but for the most part life makes sense."

His blue avian eyes drifted to one side, and he frowned, his mandibles giving a few unfocused, contemplative tremors as he thought. "Now they find out… it was all a lie," he said, his voice lower, more solemn. "They wake up to see these things in the dark that just want to destroy everyone they ever cared about. If they survive, there will be a lot of angry orphans out there looking for answers."

Shepard's brow furrowed. That had not been the answer she had expected. It was not unlike Garrus to think about heavy subject matter like this, especially not with his father and sister still caught up in the crossfire of the war on Palaven, but it surprised her all the same to hear him speak with such sincerity, rather than trying to patch his apprehensions over with a well-meaning joke. "You really think there won't be any survivors?" she asked, looking up at him, expectant, hoping for an answer. "What about the kids who— their parents survive the war? Life has to go on. People can't just stop having children, or… trying to help their children understand."

"That's true," Garrus answered, thoughtful. "But… can you imagine bringing a child into this sort of environment? This war, it's… it's destroyed everything. What kind of quality of life would a child have in a galaxy decimated by war?" Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his console, reaching up and scrolling it back to where he had last left off before getting distracted. "It's not just a few colonies fighting one another, Shepard, it's— _everywhere_. It's _everything_ ," he told her. "If we win – _when_ we win – what are we winning, really? Our home, but will it really be our home? Will it be the kind of home we want to bring someone new into? For it to be the only home they've ever known?"

"Things will get better," Shepard reasoned, trying her hardest to believe her own optimism. "They have to. Things can't stay this way forever. The Reapers said this has happened before, and… things were pretty okay for us before all of this. Life was pretty normal before the Reapers attacked again."

"After fifty thousand years of restoration," Garrus countered. He sighed again, louder this time, before sucking in a deep breath and turning to look at Shepard, supportive. "But, maybe you're right," he told her. "And, besides, who am I to tell people what to do? I've always wanted kids, myself. I guess that makes me hypocritical."

"Not really," Shepard answered, shrugging as she reached up to fiddle with a plate of his armour that had somehow gotten pushed into an unusual angle at one corner. "Just makes you a realist with optimistic ideals."

Garrus laughed, gently, turning his attention back to his work once more. "Well, all I know is that I wish they'd had a Grissom Academy for turians when I was growing up," he told her, attempting to lighten the dreary mood that had fallen over the room. "Always wanted to learn how to paint. Now I mostly paint walls with Reaper blood. Not the same, but… it's a living."

"Yeah," Shepard agreed, half-heartedly. "It's a living."

* * *

The hamster Shepard had purchased from the Citadel snuffled gently as it passed from one hand into the other, and then back into the first hand again, half-heartedly exploring the familiar territory as it looked for a way to escape to forage for more food. The hamster had, admittedly, lived much longer than she had anticipated it to – judging from the rate at which she went through fish, she never really expected _anything_ to have much of a survival rate under her care – and it had grown fat and aloof during its days aboard the ship. It had taken her several months after she had first gotten the creature, as a wide-eyed tourist's impulse buy, to realize that she had never actually gotten around to naming it, but by that time she figured it was probably too late to bother giving it a name, and so the creature had been given the unofficial title of "You", short for "Hey, You", the greeting most often offered the hamster whenever someone entered her cabin and acknowledged it.

The door of Shepard's cabin slid open, and Shepard looked up, letting You slide from one hand into the other, giving a soft, surprised squeak as it tumbled on its furry bottom before regaining its little claw feet. Jack paused in the doorway, giving the room a quick, cursory once-over, before stepping inside and letting the door close again behind her. "Nice place," she commented, propping her hands on her hips. "Still got your model ship collection, I see."

"Always," Shepard answered, petting the space between You's tiny ears with the tip of one finger. "What's up?"

Jack hesitated, looking around again, buying time before answering the question. "Nothin'," she finally answered, playing aloof. "Nothing's up. Why? Can't I just… come see you? Does there have to be a reason?"

Shepard considered, glancing down at You, before shaking her head and depositing him back into his little cage, closing the lid after him. "Not really," she answered, truthfully. "Just 'cause you wanted to see me is good enough. I know I'm good looking. You don't have to pretend."

Turning to look at Shepard, Jack laughed openly, feeling the momentary tension lift. Then, moving across the cabin to where Shepard sat, Jack sat down next to her, scooting herself almost all the way over into the Commander's space. "Move," she insisted, playfully.

"Excuse you," Shepard laughed, uncrossing her legs as she was shifted unceremoniously to one far side of her couch. "Is that any way to talk to your superior officer? I'm the _saviour of the galaxy_ , you know."

"And I'm the saviour of this seat," Jack insisted, pressing her hip against Shepard's again, though not very hard. "Move your fat ass."

"Rude," Shepard retorted, grinning.

"Bite me," Jack answered, settling into her now much larger space. Now that the playful moment was over, silence settled on the two of them again, broken only by the sound of Jack's thin, tattooed fingers drumming thoughtfully against her canvas-clad knees, her gaze fixed on a spot on the floor between her heavy combat boots. The silence was not unusual for the two of them – Jack was a woman of few niceties, which meant she had no use for small talk, something Shepard was grateful for, as conversation had never been one of her strongest suits, either. When Jack talked to someone, it was almost always to get a point across or convey information. She was not the type of person to waste words on the weather, but she could always be counted on to have something constructive to say about the war effort.

Sliding one foot over then, Jack knocked it playfully into Shepard's boot, grinning as Shepard turned to look at her, seeming surprised by the unexpected, affectionate contact. "Shi—shoot, Shepard," Jack teased, giving her a quick, playful once-over. "Shouldn't have left you to your own devices after that suicide mission. I look away for one minute, and what happens? You get grounded for six months and totally let yourself go."

Shepard stared at Jack for another long moment, not seeming to hear her, still mentally a thousand miles away. Then, coming back to reality, she took a quick, sharp breath, raising her distinct brows. "I'm sorry, what was that?" she asked. "I was thinking about the Academy… Cerberus…"

"I said you're _fat_ , Shepard," Jack repeated, not missing a beat.

Shepard faltered, her heart skipping a beat, beginning to race as she tried hard to keep a worried flush from rising to her face. The banter was so silly and so simple, but somehow Jack had figured out the exact right nerve to strike in her innocent teasing. Then, leaning back in her seat again, Shepard laughed, this time a bit too enthusiastically. "You're an ass, Jack," she told her, hoping to cover for her earlier slip.

"Takes one to know one," Jack replied, smirking fondly. Then, turning her attention back to her feet again, she tucked her hands between her knees, giving a sad, quiet sigh and resting her head on Shepard's shoulder. "This war fuckin' sucks, Shepard," she said, quietly.

Shepard nodded slowly, thoughtful, before turning her head to rest her cheek against the top of Jack's head, understanding. "Yeah," she agreed, giving a soft, tired sigh. "Y'know… it fuckin' does."


	7. WEEK FOUR

The new mail symbol was flashing on Shepard's console by the time she woke up. Rubbing her eyes, she yawned, sitting herself down in the swivel chair in front of her desk and selecting the mail icon before perusing through the inbox, her fingers trailing over four new e-mail titles flashing in her cache. Each sender address was more puzzling than the last, and as she opened each one in a row, her confused frown deepened. The first one, from Aria T'Loak, requested for Shepard to meet up with her in a nightclub on the Citadel called Purgatory, as she had a proposition that Shepard "would not want to pass up". The second, from Miranda, also requested a meeting on the Citadel, though the intent of her request was much vaguer, only saying that they "should talk" and that meeting in person at docking bay D24 would be "safer".

The other two, from Kahlee Sanders and Ashley, were much less mysterious – Kahlee's e-mail, forwarded to Shepard's address from Admiral Hackett, thanked Shepard for her help saving the students and staff of Grissom Academy, while Ashley's merely stated that she was doing much better, and would appreciate a visit if Shepard had the time. Closing out her e-mail program, Shepard yawned again, stretching her arms until she heard a soft _crack_ before getting to her feet again and moving into the bathroom to wash her face and pee. Having finished with these tasks, she washed and dried her hands before pausing in front of the mirror, staring at herself. Then, turning to one side, she lifted her oversized tee, rubbing a wary hand over her still-flat stomach before giving an anxious sigh.

Moving back into her cabin bedroom, Shepard crossed to her small, space-efficient closet, pulling on her casuals and getting ready to head down into the ship. Grabbing her military-printed hoodie from the back of her closet, she zipped it up over her shirt, self-conscious, before turning and pressing a large, flat comm button built into the side of her armour closet. "Joker?" she asked. "Set a course for the Citadel."

"Shopping trip, Commander?" Joker teased back.

"Something like that," Shepard answered, before letting go of the comm button and ending the conversation.

* * *

"Shepard!"

The familiar voice snapped Shepard out of her near walking-dream-state, and she turned, looking around for the source, before finally spotting the familiar hexagonal print of Miranda's outfit only a few yards away. She realized, almost sheepishly, that she been so distracted by her own thoughts that she had nearly walked right past the person she had come to the Citadel to see, and she quickly redirected her course, heading for her familiar former-Cerberus contact. Turning to face the Commander, Miranda leaned back against the docking bay railing, tilting her head and offering Shepard a plush, knowing smile as she approached. "Commander Shepard," she repeated, the name almost a purr on her tongue. "It's been far too long. We live in… interesting times."

"A little too interesting," Shepard agreed, wary.

"I couldn't get anywhere near you when the Alliance had you locked up," Miranda explained, moving past Shepard to head towards the seating area.

"Relieved of duty," Shepard answered, turning to follow the former operative. "It was complicated."

"I'm sure it was," Miranda returned. "I'm surprised they didn't court-martial you. The Alliance isn't known for its flexibility. Which is why I was surprised to learn that…" She hesitated, glancing over towards Shepard as if weighing whether or not to finish her statement, and Shepard looked back at her, curious.

"That what?" Shepard asked, tentative.

"I… Earth," Miranda replied, not entirely convincing, quickly changing the subject. "About Earth, Shepard… what happened?"

Shepard stared at her another moment, trying to figure out from her expression what she had been about to ask before, but then, giving up, she shook her head, giving a heavy, sombre exhale. "Countless people lost their lives within minutes," she answered, evenly. "The Reapers are everything we feared."

"They should have listened to you a long time ago," Miranda agreed. Approaching Shepard, she reached out a gloved hand, resting it reassuringly on the Commander's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Shepard," she said.

Shepard nodded, reaching up to take the offered hand and giving it a reassuring, thankful squeeze. Then, "What about you?" she asked, letting Miranda retrieve her hand again. "What brings you here?"

"I need to talk to a few people," Miranda answered, moving past Shepard again towards the seating area. "Like you. The Citadel is a good place to meet… for now. What's the Alliance's next move?"

"We have a plan," Shepard returned, evenly. "It's… a long shot."

"And you?" Miranda asked, reaching the seating area and lowering herself into one of the plush chairs. "Do you have a plan, Shepard?"

Shepard faltered, taken aback, before frowning, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Do I have a plan for what?"

Miranda hesitated again, her gaze straying as she folded her arms over her chest, her fingers tapping anxiously against either elbow, before sucking in a sharp breath and looking up at Shepard again, braver this time. "For… yourself?" she asked, purposefully vague. "For the war? …For the long term?"

Shepard made a face, confused as to what in the world Miranda could be talking about. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked to see if perhaps they had been followed by some deep-cover Cerberus operative or another that was making Miranda become suddenly so cryptic, but, seeing no one who looked even remotely suspicious, she turned back to Miranda with a look of confusion. "Mind telling me what's up, Miranda?" she asked, her voice deadpan.

"How far are you?" Miranda suddenly asked, dropping her hands into her lap again, her tone oddly stiff.

Shepard's frown deepened, her hands balling into fists in the pockets of her hoodie as she pressed her lips into a hard line. "What?" she asked, hoping Miranda meant something different than she feared.

"You heard me, Shepard," Miranda pressed, her voice an unsettling undertone. " _How far along are you_?"

Shepard's frown darkened as she levelled her gaze with Miranda's, trying to decide how to answer this invasive question, if at all. Then, taking a deep breath, her countenance lifted a bit, her stoic pokerface replaced by an almost relieved, if somewhat desperate, anxiety. "How did you know?" she finally asked, her voice low, a strangled, barely discernible tenor of desperation entering her tone. "That I was—"

"Pregnant?" Miranda asked, making only a small effort to keep her voice down.

Shepard flinched faintly at the word, but gave a quick, curt nod of verification nonetheless. "Yes," she said. "That I was p… pregnant."

"I didn't believe it at first," Miranda answered truthfully, still as elusive as before. "Or, I didn't want to believe it. It just seemed so, I don't know. _Unnatural_. But there was no denying the telling signs."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Shepard asked, sitting down on the bench next to Miranda, anxious. "What _telling signs_?"

"The nausea?" Miranda returned, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Mood troubles? Picking fights with crew members?"

"I wouldn't say I was _picking fights_ ," Shepard argued, shrugging self-apologetically. "He was being a jerk. Give me a _little_ credit."

"You blamed it all on stress, and Dr. Chakwas was only too eager to prescribe you some low-level aspirin to keep it in check," Miranda went on, ignoring Shepard's interjection. "But that didn't help, did it?"

"No, not really," Shepard answered. Then, suddenly, she stopped, realization dawning on her, and turned back to Miranda, pointing an accusatory finger. "Wait a minute," she said, feeling her metaphorical hackles starting to rise. "Were… you… hacking into Dr. Chakwas' medical records? Miranda… were you _spying_ on me?"

Miranda shrugged, looking away from Shepard again, avoiding her accusatory gaze. "Everyone knows you're sexually active, Shepard," she returned, matter-of-factly, covering her nosiness with an air of entitled dispassion.

"With _Garrus_ ," Shepard shot back, affronted. "With a _turian_. But that doesn't answer my question. How did you know that I was pregnant?"

"I can just _tell_ ," Miranda hissed, turning her ice-blue eyes back to Shepard with a snap of her neck, the edge of irked authority entering her voice again. "And it doesn't _matter_ who you're sexually active with. At least, not for you, it doesn't."

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" Shepard asked, her brow furrowing even deeper into a confused frown, fully irritated.

Miranda shrugged again, her plush lips pursing together into an agitated, dismissive line as her blue gaze turned away again, as if something very interesting on the far side of the docking bay kept drawing her attention to it. "It doesn't matter," she said, quietly.

Shepard stared at Miranda for a long, silent moment, appalled. Then, scoffing, she curled her fingers around the edge of her seat, shaking her head and wetting her lips, angry and incredulous. "You know, I thought you were better than this, Miranda," she finally said, her voice biting. "I thought you weren't this person anymore. This is just like how you used to be when you worked for Cerberus, reeling me in with your… your cryptic talk about how _well-informed_ you are about everything going on in my life, and then, rather than clue me in to this important information – information which could easily be imperative to _my health_ – you just…" Lifting a hand, she made a curt, dismissive sweeping motion.

"Blow me off?" she said. "Just like that?"

Returning her hands to the pockets of her hoodie, Shepard shook her head, disgusted, before turning her attention to the far end of the docking bay as well. It was difficult to tell if her guilt tactic was working; Miranda had not looked at her once during the length of her spiel, but had instead taken to looking at the floor, massaging one thin wrist between the fingers of the opposite, glove-clad hand. Getting to her feet, Shepard sighed, pulling her docking card out of the pocket of her pants and starting towards the exit of the docking bay again. "Same old Miranda," she scoffed. "Always getting off on knowing more than everyone else around you. I don't know why I expected any different from you this time around—"

"Your rebuild," Miranda suddenly spoke up, looking up at Shepard again, but her voice died down halfway through, as if she had not actually meant to speak at all.

Shepard paused, turning halfway to face Miranda and raising her shapely eyebrows, intrigued. "I'm sorry, what was that?" she asked, expectant. Getting information out of Miranda was proving to be more difficult than pulling teeth, but thankfully Shepard was nothing if not stubborn. "Did you say something, Miranda?"

"Your rebuild," Miranda repeated, louder this time, looking up at Shepard with a kind of agitated exasperation. "We used… technologies to rebuild you. Technologies that might have… altered your genetic structure. Just a bit."

"A bit?" Shepard repeated, folding her arms.

"Well, what do you want me to do, Shepard?" Miranda demanded, suddenly. "Apologize? I worked damn hard to bring you back. You're lucky to even be alive, let alone alive and fully functional as you are." Scoffing, she shook her head, causing her soft black hair to tumble over the curve of her shoulder, bouncing down the slope of her back. "Project Lazarus had barely anything to work with, and they expected us to rebuild you from the ground up," she went on. "Over and over and _over_ again, until we got it _perfect_. The Illusive Man wanted us to remake you _exactly_ the way you had been before. No changes. He wanted you to be yourself, not just a super-smart reproduction."

Miranda's plush upper lip twitched, her sculpted brows pressing together into a hard frown. "I'm not a miracle-worker," she said. "I can only do so much with the technology we have readily available, even with the generous funding Cerberus provided. It didn't seem so far-fetched to use a few experimental technologies. Appropriate, even, considering the unique circumstances."

"And did you also think it was _appropriate_ not to mention this to me until just now?" Shepard scoffed, jabbing an indicative index finger into her own chest.

"It didn't seem like it would matter, at the time!" Miranda shot back, exasperated. "Of course I had no way of knowing at that time that you would fuck _every alien on the Citadel_ once we finished rebuilding you—!"

"Hey!" Shepard barked, cutting over her. " _Watch your goddamned tone_."

Miranda stared at her for another long moment, her body rigid, her gaze unflinching and cold. Then, realizing that she was in the wrong, she slowly but surely deflated, dropping her gaze to the floor in shame. "I'm sorry, Shepard," she said, her voice quieter. "I didn't mean that. All I meant was…" She bit her lip, tentative, drawing out a long, uncertain silence, before finally letting out a defeated sigh.

"We wanted to give you an edge over any race, so we made you compatible with all of them," Miranda explained, shaking her head tiredly. "Using this experimental technology, we made it possible for your altered genetics to adapt to extraterrestrial genomic information. _Any_ extraterrestrial genomic information. That way if you got wounded on the field of battle and happened to get some alien blood in your system somehow, like… in an open wound, or in your mouth, or in your eyes, or whatever the case, you wouldn't go into paraphyletic shock from the mix of aminos." Raising a hand, the former operative ran it guiltily along the length of her thin upper arm. "I knew your body was made to be compatible with other races'," she repeated, apologetic. "I guess I just didn't realize… exactly… _how_ compatible. It doesn't make sense that it should have happened that way, not really, but…"

Turning her eyes up towards Shepard again, sheepish, she took a breath, holding it for a moment, before letting it out in a tired, defeated sigh, causing her shoulders to rise and fall. "I'm sorry, Shepard," she said. "If I'd known, I would have told you, but the truth of the matter is… I simply didn't know it was possible. It _shouldn't_ have been possible, unless some other outside element were working in conjunction to cause it. I'm sorry, I would have told you if I'd known, but I just… I didn't. I didn't know."

An abashed silence fell over the conversation, neither woman knowing what to say following this confession. Shepard stared at Miranda, considering her, wondering if there were going to be more explanation coming, but then, realizing that was likely all she was going to get, she let out a deep breath instead, moving to Miranda and dropping herself back down into the seat beside the operative. Miranda's rigid, anxious countenance seemed to relax a bit at this gesture, giving off an unspoken aura of relief as Shepard stretched her legs out in front of her, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and leaning back against the taut padding of the waiting-area chair.

"Well," she commented, unsure of what else there was to say on the matter.

"Well," Miranda returned, still sheepish. She fidgeted, twiddling her thumbs anxiously as she tried to think of a way to salvage the conversation. Then, drawing her dark brows into a frown, she took a deep breath, looking over at Shepard again, wary. "Shepard," she said. "There's… something else I wanted to mention."

"What is it?" Shepard asked, turning to look at Miranda, seeming much more tired now than before.

"I…" Miranda started to say, but then faltered, her gaze dropping to the floor again, before letting out a frustrated huff of breath, urging herself to get the words out. "I… haven't heard from my sister, Oriana, for a while. I'm… I'm starting to get worried."

Shepard frowned, shifting in her seat again, trying to get situated. "Your sister?" she asked, concerned.

"Yes," Miranda answered, turning her gaze upwards again, glad for the change in subject. "I don't want to overreact, but… well, there's a lot going on."

"I thought we made sure she was safe?" Shepard asked.

"We did," Miranda returned, giving a curt, reassuring nod. "It's probably nothing, but… I just know my father is involved."

Shepard's frown deepened. "What happened?" she asked, crossing her feet at the ankles. She guessed these seats had been made for the express purpose of not letting people get _too_ comfortable sitting in them – the Citadel had not exactly improved in straggler-friendly ways as of late, which made sense, as there was only so much space they could offer to those displaced by the Reaper War. Still, it made giving Miranda her undivided attention difficult when she could not find a way to sit that did not irritate her tailbone.

"I don't know," Miranda answered, earnestly, seeming not to notice Shepard's discomfort. "Everything I had in place to make sure she was safe just… went dark." She made a face, linking her thin fingers together anxiously. "I always kept _very_ careful tabs on my sister," she commented, shaking her head. "I _always_ knew where she was. For her to just… vanish? It could only be him." She chewed her lower lip, rubbing the toe of one high-heeled boot pensively into the rigid carpeting of the waiting area. "After I hid her away, I still knew he'd stop at nothing to find her," she added. "She's all he has left."

"He couldn't just… clone her again?" Shepard asked, raising her brows, earnest. "Clone you again? Aren't you just clones of each other?"

"It's not that simple, Shepard," Miranda answered, a bit harsher than she might have intended, turning to look at her again. "We're all… we're all clones of our mother. Technically. She was our father's wife. But she died a long time ago. For him to clone her again… he'd have to have her DNA." Turning away again, she brought one gloved thumb to her mouth, nibbling on the tip of it anxiously. "It's been too much time," she said, more to assure herself than Shepard. "She's been dead too long. He would have to have collected it while she was still alive, and frozen it – for years, all these years, almost _thirty years_ – and…" Shaking her head, she pulled her thumbnail from her mouth, setting her hands rigidly on her thighs and giving a sharp huff of breath.

"No," she said. "Oriana is all he has left. I have a hunch what happened to her, but… I'll fill you in when I'm certain."

"What do you need from me?" Shepard asked, treading cautiously. She did not want to upset Miranda more than she already was, but at the same time she did not want to just abandon her to her own devices.

Miranda looked up at her, seeming almost surprised by the offer. Then, shaking her head, she looked away again, down at her gloved hands, nervously readjusting them, smoothing out the wrinkles. "I appreciate the offer, Shepard," she told her. "But you have your hands full. If I need a door or two kicked down, I know just who to call… but for now…" She took a deep breath, stopping in her fidgeting, before looking up at Shepard again with a sad, hardly convincing smile. "I'll be fine," she said.

"I understand," Shepard answered, evenly.

"I just need to figure this out."

"You will."

Miranda nodded, appreciative of the vote of confidence, before pushing herself back to her feet, ready to head out again. Then, seeming to remember something, she turned back towards Shepard again, pulling up her omni-tool and inputting a few deft keystrokes into the digital keypad. "Listen, Shepard," she said, her voice a respectful undertone. "I'm sending you the address of a doctor on Illium. I've gone to her for private medicinal help before. She's very good, and she's been known to take on unscheduled private clients for a price, plus, it's all totally confidential." Letting her omni-tool flicker out as her hand returned to her side, she cleared her throat, raising her dark brows. "She might be able to help you should you want to… take care of… things," she said.

Shepard frowned. "Things?" she asked, not quite catching the drift.

"Things," Miranda repeated, a bit more emphatic this time. Her gaze flicked to Shepard's abdomen, and then returned solemnly to her face. "You know _… things_."

Shepard's expression cleared, deadpan, unsure of what to say to this. Then, getting up from her seat, she jerked her thumb over her shoulder, indicating towards the elevator at the end of the docking bay. "I've… got to get back to it," she said, quickly changing the subject.

"And I should get out of sight," Miranda agreed, indicating over her shoulder as well, towards where the ships were docked. "Shepard… stay safe."

"I will," Shepard assured her. "And you – be careful."

Miranda smiled, shrugging. "No promises," she answered, wryly.

* * *

Shepard lowered herself onto the bench a few feet from where Aria sat, her fingers curling awkwardly over the edge of the cushion as she turned her attention towards the asari. Aria seemed aloof, much less rigidly territorial than she had been the first time Shepard had met her in Afterlife on Omega – Shepard figured that being displaced from what one considered to be their kingdom would have that sort of humbling effect on most people, but it still surprised her to see it from Aria. Aria was silent for a moment, pensive, not seeming to even acknowledge Shepard, before finally taking a deep breath and draping an arm over a length of backboard, spreading herself out as much as possible, claiming what little territory she could call hers.

"I hate this place," she commented, rigidly. "So sickeningly uptight."

"Then why are you here?" Shepard asked, folding her hands in her lap, interested.

Aria made a face, turning to shoot Shepard an incredulous look. Then, getting to her feet, she walked away a few paces, before coming to a rest, crossing her arms and letting out an irritated little sigh. "Cerberus stole Omega from me," she answered, matter-of-factly. "The Illusive Man is now squarely at the top of my shit list. He will pay for every second I've spent in this bureaucratic hellhole."

"How did Cerberus defeat you?" Shepard asked, allowing herself to sit more comfortably now that Aria was not looking. The benches in Purgatory were much nicer than the ones in the waiting area of the docking bay – which made sense, she figured, as the people who came in here were generally paying customers.

"Deceit, distraction, and a big fuckin' army," Aria answered, straightforward. "They lured me away from Omega and ambushed me. I escaped, but Cerberus had already laid siege. By the time I could launch an assault, they were already too entrenched."

"At least you escaped to fight another day," Shepard offered, helpful.

"And that day is coming," Aria assured her, turning back to look at her again, fire in her eyes. "I'll take Omega back." Turning towards Shepard again, Aria returned to her seat, spreading herself out again, resting one ankle lazily against the opposite knee and draping her arms across the backboard of the bench. "But I'll get to that," she said. "You're here because I have a proposition."

"I'm listening," Shepard answered, cautiously.

"The way I see it, if you don't defeat the Reapers, we're all dead," Aria told her, blunt as ever. "Won't matter where I'm sitting. It's in my interest to help you."

"What are you offering, Aria?" Shepard asked, wary.

"On Omega, I kept the Blood Pack, Blue Suns, and Eclipse in check," Aria answered, a wry, self-approving little smile beginning to curl at the corners of her mouth at the memory. "Now, though, they're running amok. Nobody wants that. Unite them under my rule, and you'll have a powerful and ruthless force for your war. I've laid the groundwork with all three groups. I just need you to close the deals."

Shepard made a face, uncomfortable at this proposition. "Give a criminal a gun, he'll shoot you in the back," she commented, trying to play casual.

"They already have guns, Shepard," Aria countered, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'll make sure they point them at the Reapers. I'm trying to help you. Why don't you think it over? Meet with Narl, my agent who's dealing with the Blood Pack."

"Narl?" Shepard asked, clarifying.

"The Blue Suns leader is incognito here on the Citadel… he'll be expecting you," Aria continued on, ignoring her interruption. "And I already have a deal with Jonah Sidaris, the Eclipse leader. You just have to get your friend, Commander Bailey, to let her out of jail."

At the mention of Bailey, Shepard's brows raised, and she could hardly keep from letting out a small, incredulous scoff. "You obviously don't know Bailey very well," she commented.

"Bailey respects you," Aria returned, evenly, unfazed by Shepard's reaction. "Lean on him. I think a united force of professional mercs is worth it… don't you?" Then, without waiting for an answer, Aria raised her tattooed brows, offering Shepard her signature, self-assured, too-broad smile. "It's always a pleasure, Shepard," she told her, an unspoken indicator that it was time for the Commander to leave. "Let me know if you want to talk later."

Shepard did not have to be told twice.

* * *

There were always strings to be pulled when it came to being a Spectre, but it seemed that they only presented themselves when they were not particularly needed. Now, as Shepard checked and re-checked her Spectre terminal archives, looking for something she could use to help her recruit Aria's scattered mercenary groups, it seemed that all the helpful leads and strings for pulling had disappeared. Just then, a high-pitched, digitized sound alerted her of another presence in the Spectre hub, but she had grown so used to the noise by now that she did not even need to look up to know who had materialized behind her. "There's somebody looking for you, you know," she commented, offhandedly. "I ran into him just outside. You like cutting it close, don't you?"

"I get a small thrill from it, admittedly," Kasumi answered wryly, hopping up onto the thin railing that lined the intel hub. How she managed to balance there so effortlessly and without hurting her spine was beyond Shepard, but then, so were many things about the way Kasumi operated. "Who was it, by the way?"

"Somebody named… Jorman Bau…?" Shepard returned, frowning as she scrolled through a series of cluttered messages, checking off the odd approval every time something caught her eye.

"Jondum Bau," Kasumi corrected her, tucking her legs up to her body in a criss-cross sitting position on the edge of the railing.

"So you know this guy?" Shepard asked, glancing over her shoulder towards Kasumi before returning her attention to the Spectre portal. It was amazing how many petty issues seemed to be deemed important enough for Spectre approval when there was a galaxy at stake, but she figured that even issues that appeared small in the grand scheme had the propensity to be big issues for _someone_.

"He's a good man," Kasumi answered, giving a little extra reassuring bob of her head for good measure. "One of the best salarian lawmen I've ever come across in my career. He's agreeably level-headed, not like some others. Got a good head on his shoulders and actually listens to reason, for the most part."

"So basically he lets you get away with murder," Shepard said, checking off another approval message before moving on with her skimming.

"Yes and no," Kasumi returned. "Not if he can help it. He's no pushover, Shepard. He's smart. He's a challenge. That's why I like him."

"Of course it is," Shepard said, shaking her head.

"He's a good Spectre," Kasumi commented, shrugging. "The galaxy would do well to have more like him."

"You do realize he's trying to arrest you, right?" Shepard asked, looking back at Kasumi again, this time raising her brows, bemused.

Kasumi shrugged again, biting distractedly at her painted lower lip. "Well," she replied, rocking a bit on the edge of the railing. "Nobody's _perfect_."

"Right," Shepard returned, shaking her head as she closed out her Spectre messages. Taking a deep breath, she turned to Kasumi, propping her hands on her hips, and Kasumi imitated the gesture, teasingly. "If you're gonna tag along with me, it's going to be pretty boring," she warned.

"I like boring," Kasumi answered, smiling. "Boring is underrated."

Shepard made a face, incredulous, dropping her hands from her hips back into the pockets of her hoodie, casual. "You hate boring," she said. "I know you."

Kasumi pondered on this for a moment, before finally nodding and dropping her hands from her hips as well, hopping off the railing, her feet hardly making a sound as they hit the padded floor of the Spectre terminal. "Yes," she answered, frankly. "True. But I like you. So I think I can deal with boring."

"You just want a bodyguard," Shepard returned, entertained.

"Yes," Kasumi answered, candidly. "Well, nobody said _I_ was perfect, either. Now are we going to go, or not? There's so much boring to be done."

"So much boring," Shepard repeated, amused.

"So much," Kasumi confirmed.

* * *

"You can't turn people away!"

Shepard turned, her curiosity piqued. She and her currently uncamouflaged shadow had only just passed through the archway leading from the elevator to the main floor of the holding area when the sound of desperate arguing had reached her ears, causing her to stop in her tracks and pay attention. A long line had formed at the immigration services desk, but it was clear that the current commotion was coming from a man at the front of the line who was begging fruitlessly with an exasperated-looking employee. "Yes, we can," the employee answered, a telltale weariness in her voice, making it obvious that this was not the first argument like this she had gotten into today, and she fully expected it to not be the last one, either. "Tell your friends to move their ship out of the docking bay."

"Wait—please," the refugee begged, his tone changing suddenly to one of desperation. "My family's on board. Just let them land – I'll pay!"

"This isn't about money," the employee answered frankly, shaking her head with a tired sigh. "The wards are already at capacity for refugees. There's just _no room_."

"You let asari in here earlier!" the refugee countered, suddenly angry, slapping an emphatic hand down on the counter between them. "Why would you let them in and not us? _Why not us?_ "

"That's back when we had space," the employee answered, just as frustrated. "We don't have space anymore. For anyone."

"Where is my family supposed to go?" the refugee demanded, desperate once again.

"I don't know, all right?" the employee sighed, at a loss. "But they can't land here."

"You sure you can't squeeze in a few more people, Officer?" Shepard interjected, moving up to the counter, earnest.

"And who the heck are you?" the employee demanded, turning on her, but her expression quickly changed when she realized who it was she was talking to. The employee hastily straightened her posture, her countenance immediately shifting into something more agreeable. "Oh, Commander Shepard," she said, sounding flustered. "Uh, if that's what you think, I'll, uh… I'll find them some room." Pulling up her omni-tool, she began to punch something into it, her brow furrowed in concentration, before looking back up at the refugee again. "Commander Shepard says your family's cleared," she informed him, glancing warily over the man's shoulder to make sure nobody else overheard their exchange. "Just tell them to hurry."

"So… my family can dock?" the refugee asked, stunned, looking between the two women. "I…" He faltered, unsure of what there was to say, before finally turning towards Commander Shepard, bewildered, and giving her an appreciative nod of his head. "Thank you, Commander," he said. "Thank you so much."

"Don't mention it," Shepard answered, pleased. Then, turning away from the desk, she started to walk away again, but she did not manage to go but a few steps before she felt the weight of the man's hand on her shoulder.

"Wait," he said. "Please stay. I… I want my family to meet you, so they can thank you as well."

Shepard hesitated a moment, weighing the options of wanting to leave to get on with her business but not wanting to be rude, before finally turning around to face the man again, realizing as she did so just how threadbare and unkempt he looked. He wore all green, but his clothes were worn and faintly stained with sweat, as if he had been unable to grab any other garments before evacuating his home. A grey leather belt was strapped across his chest, an empty reminder of days spent as a soldier, and at his waist he had two full pocket-bags. "I can't wait until they get here," the refugee told her, smiling widely, but even his smile seemed run-down and haggard, off-white teeth leering through a five o' clock shadow that begged for the luxury of a disposable razor. "I can't wait to tell them that they were granted passage onto the Citadel by Commander Shepard, herself. They're going to be so excited, especially my little one. He's your biggest fan."

"Is he?" Shepard asked, giving a light, forced laugh in return and hoping it sounded friendly. "Well that's… very nice of him." She glanced back towards Kasumi, hoping for some support, but Kasumi had gone invisible again. Frustrated at this apparent turncoat abandonment, Shepard turned back towards the refugee just in time to see a dark-haired woman approaching with two young children in tow, one clinging to her skirt, the other all but running excited circles around her. In her arms she carried a single bag, all that remained, Shepard guessed, of what had once been the family's livelihood. With this in mind, she could not help but marvel at the enthusiasm and positivity of the older child, who seemed to have not a care in the world, and just appeared to be happy to be alive.

"Marta," the refugee said, holding out a hand towards the dark-haired woman and beckoning her over. "Max, Josef… this is the woman who cleared your permission to dock. She's the reason we're going to have someplace to live. This is—"

"Commander Shepard," gasped the little one, starstruck, before pulling his mother's skirt over his face, hiding himself from view.

"Hello," Shepard said, holding up an awkward hand in greeting and doing her best to smile on cue. Taking his hand from her shoulder, the refugee moved forward, greeting his wife with an affectionate kiss on the cheek before moving to hug both of his children. Shepard shifted uncomfortably as she watched the display, trying her hardest not to feel out of place, but it was difficult. She had never been very good in affectionate situations, and right now she felt like an oddly intrusive third wheel in this family's happy reunion. "I should really get going," she finally spoke up, indicating over her shoulder with a jerk of her thumb. "I'm right in the middle of some pretty important Spectre business, and I shouldn't keep the Council waiting too much lo—"

But her voice instantly trailed off as soon as the refugee took the bag from Marta's hands. Now that nothing was obstructing her view, Shepard could plainly see that the man's wife was at least six months pregnant. Marta sighed, relieved to be free of the bag, one hand moving to support her back while the other came to rest on her eldest son's head, stilling him for the moment. In all the confusion, the younger of the two children had moved behind his mother, hiding from the Commander, though Shepard could see the faint, shaggy outline of the side of his head as he peeked around his mother's legs, watching his hero from a safe distance.

For a moment, Shepard was taken aback, unsure of what to say, or how to react. Then, her stalled train of thought was interrupted by the refugee's voice piping up again. "Max, don't you want to say hi?" he asked, crouching down to the level of the little boy hidden behind his mother's skirt, and Max, hearing his name, instantly retreated back into his hiding-place. The refugee gave a light, almost embarrassed chuckle, looking back up at Shepard, before giving an apologetic shrug of his shoulders.

"Max is a good boy," he said. "He's just a little wary around strangers."

Shepard nodded, offering a forced breath of a laugh in return. Marta smiled at the gesture, before stepping out of the way, leaving Max out in the open. Max's eyes widened, and for a moment he was frozen, startled at having been so unexpectedly robbed of his hiding-place. Crouching down, Shepard got on his level, offering him a reassuring smile before reaching out and giving his head an awkward, reassuring pat. The boy could not have been more than three years old, and his face was grubby, his mouth sticky from what looked like nutrient paste. "Hey, Max," Shepard said, and for a moment, Max looked as though he were about to dash, or faint, but Shepard merely reached up to her collar, lifting her dog tags up and over her head.

"Here," she said, carefully lowering the tags down around the child's neck and letting the long chain hang down until they came to rest on his stomach. "These are for you."

At this gesture, Max's eyes grew wide, and he quickly scooped up the tags in his little hands, looking down at them, moving them from side to side so the artificial light glinted off the lettering. Then, looking up at Shepard again, his dark eyes still round with surprise, his chubby fingers curled protectively around the cool metal of the dog tags, clutching them to his chest as if they were his most prized possession. "Can I keep them?" he asked.

"Max," Marta scolded, laughing.

"No, it's okay," Shepard assured her, before turning her attention back to Max. "You can keep them, buddy. They're all yours."

Max beamed, barely able to contain his excitement, his dark eyes lighting up, his rosy cheeks all but glowing. "Thank you," he told her, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't mention it," Shepard answered, offering him a reassuring smile. "They look better on you than they do on me, anyway. But, hey, you gotta promise to take good care of those, though, okay? Don't lose them." Chuckling faintly, she picked up the tags from his hand, admiring them around the little boy's neck, before turning her attention up towards his parents, amused. "The only reason I lost my first pair was because I died," she added, jokingly.

Neither parent laughed; in fact, Marta looked downright startled by this.

"Oh but it's okay," Shepard quickly added, before looking back down at Max with a smile and returning the tags to his hands. "I got better."

"Thank goodness," Max answered, still awestruck.

"Yeah," Shepard repeated, smiling. "Thank goodness."

* * *

Shepard listened for the hushed, tell-tale sound of Kasumi following in her wake as she started towards the far end of the holding docks again, and it did not take long before the master thief caught up with her, no longer invisible, a small, knowing smile on her purple lips as she walked in time with the Commander.

"That was kind of you," Kasumi commented, tucking her hands behind her in a know-it-all gesture. "What you did back there."

"It was necessary of me," Shepard answered, matter-of-factly, barely giving her a backwards glance.

"Because you believe that man needed encouragement?" Kasumi asked, glancing over her shoulder towards where the little family was now congregated around the youngest child, admiring his new dog tags.

Shepard shook her head, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as she walked. "It wasn't the man I was concerned about," she answered. "It was his wife, and his children. Too many people marginalize the importance of families in times of war. All they think about are the soldiers."

"Wars are not won by children, Shepard," Kasumi reminded her. "Wars are won by soldiers. Grown men and women, fighting for our freedoms."

"Wars are won or lost on the homefront," Shepard countered, turning to look at her now. "Wars are won with hope, and morale. Not with pain and destruction. That's all the Reapers have ever known, destruction. And that's why we're going to beat them."

"Because we have morale?" Kasumi asked, a note of curiosity entering her voice.

"No," Shepard answered. "Because we have hope."

Kasumi chuckled. "You're a strange bird, Shepard," she said. "You don't take nonsense from anybody. I like that about you. I suppose it's true, then, what they say – that all you really need is love."

"Who said that?" Shepard asked, arching a brow.

Kasumi hesitated a moment, thoughtful, before finally giving a small shrug and waving a dismissive hand in Shepard's direction. "I'm not sure," she answered. "I don't remember. But it sounds like something somebody would have said." Shepard turned away again, starting to walk towards the far end of the holding area once more, and Kasumi rushed after her, quickly catching up, having to walk quickly to keep pace with Shepard's militaristic strides. "Speaking of love, you were very good with that child back there," she commented, intrigued. "I didn't know you had a soft spot for children. I always thought of you as more of a… martial person. Getting the job done, no time for family type of thing."

"I'm no good with children," Shepard answered shortly.

"Marta and Greg might disagree," Kasumi answered. She glanced up, noting the curious look on Shepard's face, and gave a little knowing smile. "I saw his name on his omni-tool registration card," she explained. "While you were talking to him and his family I took the opportunity to find out a little about them, in case they could be of any help to us. I managed to pull some information about them from his omni-tool."

"And can they be of any help to us?" Shepard asked. She was not entirely at peace with Kasumi's habit of taking whatever she pleased, whenever she pleased, but she guessed a little bit of information searching was harmless, as far as her usual endeavours went.

"Potentially," Kasumi answered, pulling up her own omni-tool as they walked. "He used to work as a mechanic on Triton before the Reapers invaded. Mostly aquatic mechs, but he did some spacecraft work as well." Tapping a few holographic buttons on her omni-screen, the image shifted, this time showing a display of a slowly-spinning planet, which quickly sprouted several glowing white branches of information. "Since he lived on Triton, I have to assume he was very rich at one point," Kasumi continued, closing out the pop-up images. "But his bank account was liquidated when the Reapers attacked. All his money is being used towards the war effort. The only possessions he owns now are the clothes on his back and whatever's in that pack Marta was carrying."

Kasumi tapped a few more symbols on her omni-tool, closing out the diagram of Triton, and instead pulled up an image of Greg's work ID. "As for him, he's only brought along a handful of tools and some extra medi-gel," she added. "That's what's in the pouches on his belt." Her shrewd smile widened as she pulled up another image on her omni-tool, this time of a series of what looked to be text windows. "I also found out that Marta's baby is going to be a girl," she said. "Marta sent Greg an e-mail saying she wanted to name the baby Camille, but Max insisted she name the baby Jane. Greg said he would live with either one, if it made his wife and son happy."

"That poor child," Shepard chuckled, shaking her head.

"And what are you going to name yours?" Kasumi asked, relaxing her hand so that her omni-tool flickered out.

Shepard felt her stomach drop. No longer smiling, she stopped dead in her tracks, turning on Kasumi with a hard, questioning stare. "What?" she demanded, terse.

Kasumi stopped in her tracks as well, crossing her thin arms across her chest and giving a soft scoff of breath. "Oh don't act dumb with me, Shepard," she told her, shrugging one shoulder nonchalantly. "I saw the way you looked at Marta. I'm not stupid, you know. I could see that look in your eye. And the way you acted with Max…" Her voice trailed off, replaced by a telling smile, and Shepard quickly gave a dismissive scoff, turning away from her and starting towards the far end of the holding docks once more. Kasumi was quick to follow, all but skipping in her gait as she strove to catch up with the Commander's irritated power-walking.

"I know you're not a people person, Shepard, but I am," Kasumi added, insistent. "I know what to look for in people. Why haven't you told anyone?"

"How do you know I haven't told anyone?" Shepard demanded, defensive, turning on her again. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one had heard her outburst, she turned back to the master thief again, this time lowering her voice to barely above a heated whisper. "And what makes you think I'm pregnant at all?" she hissed. "I never said I was pregnant. Maybe I'm just fat, have you ever considered th—"

"Shh!" Kasumi lifted a finger, cutting her off, and allowed a moment of tense silence to pass between them before a telling smile curved the corners of her painted lips upwards once more. "I didn't know before," she admitted. "It was merely a guess. But now you've told me everything I need to know."

Shepard blinked, stunned, momentarily lost for words. "What?" she finally insisted, finding her voice once again. "I haven't told you anything."

"On the contrary," Kasumi answered, cheerfully self-satisfied, holding up her hands in a gesture of certainty. "You told me everything when you asked how I knew you hadn't told anybody _before_ asking what made me think you were pregnant in the first place. So now I know for sure. You are pregnant."

"Fine – fine!" Shepard hissed, looking over her shoulder again, paranoid. "I'm pregnant. Okay? I'm—just a couple weeks in. Nobody knows about it, though, so don't tell anybody!"

"I'm not going to tell anybody," Kasumi returned, propping her hands on her hips, seeming almost insulted. "But – not even the father knows? Are you going to tell him?"

"No," Shepard answered, shaking her head, firm. "I—I don't know. He doesn't know, but… I don't know if I'm going to tell him. I don't even know if I'm going to keep it. Okay?" Bringing her hands to her head, she ran them back through her hair, stressed, before letting them fall back to her sides again, exasperated. "Listen, Kasumi, you… you have to keep this a secret, all right?" she begged. "You can't… tell anyone, even people you think you can trust. I can't have this getting out. It'll ruin my credibility."

"God forbid you have a family," Kasumi returned, incredulous.

"Yeah, well, it's… it's more complicated than that," Shepard admitted. "I'm supposed to be this… unshakeable idol, and… I can barely keep my own problems under control. I need as much help as I can get, or I'm not going to be able to win this war. I can't have anybody knowing that, though. I just…" Putting her hands to her head again, she let out a hard, exasperated sigh. "I just need _help_ , Kasumi," she admitted. "I need help."

"Not from me though," Kasumi countered, indicating herself. "I'm no soldier, Shepard. You know this. There's no way you're recruiting me to fight in the galactic war."

"The Crucible Project needs technical experts," Shepard countered, holding out her hands, earnestly.

"I'm not a scientist!" Kasumi argued, crossing her arms.

"No," Shepard agreed. "But you're the best thief in the galaxy, and you can hack unfamiliar technology better than anyone. They could use your help. And think of it – all that expensive tech just lying around…? It's not like they're going to check your pockets at the end of the Project."

Kasumi considered this, bringing a hand up to rest a curled, pensive finger on her chin. "You do say the nicest things," she joked. "All right. I'll join you. But – on one condition."

"What's that?" Shepard asked, almost dreading the answer.

"I want to know who the father of your child is," Kasumi replied. Shepard's eyes widened warily at this, but Kasumi quickly raised her hands, reassuring. "I won't tell anybody," she told her. "I just would like to know. For personal purposes. No other reason."

"You promise not to tell?" Shepard asked, cautious.

"I _promise_ ," Kasumi replied. "Why do you not believe me when I say I won't tell? I _promise_ not to tell _anyone_. Not a soul."

Shepard wet her lips, folding her arms, anxious, before glancing over her shoulder to make absolute certain nobody was listening in. "It's Garrus," she murmured. "Garrus Vakarian."

"The— turian?" Kasumi asked, shocked.

"Shh, keep your voice down!" Shepard insisted, holding out a wary hand. "…Yes. The turian. Now will you join me in the war effort? I could really use your help."

Kasumi considered for a moment, still clearly trying to wrap her head around what Shepard had just told her, trying to figure out if she had been lied to or not. The anxious expression on Shepard's face seemed real enough, however, and after a moment Kasumi shrugged, propping her hands on her hips. "All right, I'm in," she said. "But not on this Crucible nonsense. If you want my help, it'll be on board the Normandy, helping with your mission."

"Deal," Shepard agreed.

"Wonderful," Kasumi smiled. She started to turn away from Shepard to make her way to the Normandy, but then, turning around again, she added, "I don't believe you about the turian being the father of your child, by the way. But it is going to be nice working with you again."

"Yeah," Shepard agreed, giving a soft, uncomfortable laugh and tucking her hands back into the pockets of her hoodie. "It'll be great."

* * *

Aria had made recruiting the mercenary groups sound like a much easier a task than it was turning out to be. Shepard had to figure that underhanded bribery, double-crossing, gunfights, and empty promises of sex were probably child's play as far as Aria and her cohorts were concerned, but even so, she was still not entirely convinced that Aria and her pet mercenaries were going to pull through for her in the long run even after all the hard work she was putting into recruiting them. Still, she figured, it never hurt to have a few potential extra guns in her ranks, even if they were in the hands of criminals. As she turned off the channel link from C-Sec to Captain Bailey, Shepard sighed, tired, propping her hands on her hips and turning to look back at the single attending guard, who stood in the corner of the Presidium office, perusing a scrolling text on his datapad and minding his own business.

"Hey," Shepard said, attempting to get his attention. When that did not work, she cleared her throat, before repeating, louder this time, " _Hey_." That seemed to work, as the guard finally looked up at her, alert. "I'm told you have a prisoner here," she informed him, raising her brows. "One I might be interested in."

"We have a lot of prisoners here," the guard answered, straightfaced. "You're going to have to be more specific."

Shepard frowned, tucking her hands irritatedly into the pockets of her hoodie. "I'm told you have a prisoner here by the name of Lantar Sidonis," she told him, being as specific as possible. "Captain Bailey said he's being kept here in the Presidium holding due to overflow issues."

"We have a prisoner by that name here, yes," the guard returned, impassive. Shepard waited for more, but it appeared that more was not forthcoming. That seemed to be all this particular guard had to say on the matter.

Wetting her lips, Shepard shifted her stance, trying her hardest not to get irritated with this gridlocked back-and-forth. She knew the guard was just doing his job, but he was doing it a little too well for her tastes. "I'd like to see Lantar Sidonis, if at all possible," she told him, trying her best to keep her tone civil.

"What business do you have with prisoner Sidonis, if you don't mind me asking?" the guard countered, setting his datapad aside to turn his full attention to her.

Shepard's frown deepened, and she crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed. "Spectre business," she informed him, deadpan. "I'm a Spectre working in correlation with Captain Bailey. I'd like to talk to the prisoner, if you wouldn't mind. Officer."

An uncomfortable silence followed this statement, the two regarding each other in a deadlocked stare-off, each silently challenging the other's authority in the most coldly polite way possible. Then, taking a deep breath, the guard pointed further in towards the Presidium station. "The interrogation room is just that way," he told her. "You can use that. Go ahead and wait in there while I confirm with Captain Bailey. If he says everything is in order, Sidonis should be along shortly. If not, though…"

"He will," Shepard assured him. "Don't worry, though. I'll wait."

* * *

Shepard drummed her fingers against the metal tabletop, chewing half-interestedly at the inside of her cheek as she stared patiently at the blank wall of the interrogation room. Reaching down with her free hand, she tapped absentmindedly at the inside of her thigh, trying to quell the faint, lingering itching sensation as Mordin had instructed her, but when she heard the sequential beep, click and hiss of the door of the interrogation room opening, she quickly retrieved it, lacing her fingers together and staring over them to where the uniformed guard stood in the doorway. The guard stared at her for a moment, silently judging her, before stepping aside and pulling a second turian into the room, his grip firm around the prisoner's upper arm, despite the fact that the prisoner did not seem to be putting up much of a fight at all.

Pulling the prisoner over to the interrogation table, the guard pushed him down into the seat opposite Shepard's. Sidonis did not even bother to look up at Shepard as he set his cuffed hands on the table in front of him, leaning back in his chair and staring blankly down at his cuff, his avian eyes distant, his expression hollow. He wore a simple, two-piece prison outfit, as low-tech as any Earth prison attire, and his hands were uncovered but for the cuff, a contraption that reminded Shepard a little bit of a high-tech Chinese finger trap. On his feet he wore specialized two-toed slippers with no laces – a precautionary measure, she guessed, to keep him from trying to strangle himself or rip open his own soft gullet with a well-delivered tie and tear.

Shepard watched Sidonis for a moment, running the pad of one thumb across the knuckle of the opposite thumb. Then, looking up at the guard who still stood watch over the room, she nodded solemnly towards the prisoner. "Uncuff him," she instructed.

The guard hesitated, taken aback, and then frowned, the plates of his forehead drawing together as his mandibles gave a few agitated, disapproving tics. "I'm afraid I can't do that," he reported, terse. "He is a prisoner of C-Sec. If I uncuff him, he might attempt to escape—"

"Look at him," Shepard argued, indicating across the table towards Sidonis, who still refused to make eye contact. "Does he really look like he's going to try to escape?"

The guard paused again, considering her argument. Then, moving forward towards Sidonis, he pressed a few buttons on the side of the cuff, and, with a beep and accompanying hissing noise, the cuff opened up, releasing the turian convict's hands from its confines. Once Sidonis had slid his hands out of the constraint, the guard picked up the cuff, tucking it under his arm, before returning to a corner of the room and standing at attention. Shepard looked between Sidonis and the guard, her gaze finally coming to rest on the officer. "Can you give us a little privacy, please?" she asked, trying not to sound too annoyed and only failing a little.

The officer looked surprised at her request, but then, after a moment, he shook his head, shifting the cuff under his arm as he did so. "I'm afraid I can't," he said. "C-Sec rules state that at least one officer has to be present during any interrogation session with an existing C-Sec detainee—"

"And what about if the person conducting the interrogation happens to be a Spectre?" Shepard asked, her brows arching ever so slightly in irritation. "What do your rules say about that?"

At this, the guard instantly straightened, taken aback, his mandibles clicking anxiously against the line of his sloped jaw, before finally shaking his head, his yellow avian irises flickering worriedly. "I'm not entirely familiar with the procedure for accommodating Spectres," the guard admitted, haltingly. "…Ma'am."

"Well then why don't you go ask your superiors about it?" Shepard asked, nodding towards the door of the interrogation room. "I'll be just fine with Sidonis here until you get back. I think I can handle myself against one convict without a C-Sec guard to keep watch over me, don't you think?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," the turian guard answered. Then, turning towards the door of the interrogation room, he touched the panel in the middle of it, causing it to open with a hiss and allowing him to step outside before closing securely behind him with another, similar hiss and heavy, deadbolting _click_.

Turning her attention back to Sidonis, Shepard leaned forward, folding her hands together in front of her as she stared across the table at the all-too-familiar face. "Lantar Sidonis," she said, using his full name, hoping that it would get his attention. However, he hardly even seemed to notice, instead staring intently at his own hands folded in front of him on the interrogation table, unmoving. Shepard frowned, frustrated, before taking another breath, preparing to go on despite him. "Lantar Sidonis, I'm prepared to use my position as a Spectre to garner a pardon for you," she told him, her tone even and professional. "But only on the condition that you agree to help us." Then, having said her piece, Shepard leaned back in her chair again, watching Sidonis, waiting for him to take the bait.

For a moment, Sidonis was quiet, staring intently at his hands in front of him. He shifted lightly in his seat, using the thumb of one hand to fiddle with the roughly-stitched hem of his sleeve, his mandibles quivering faintly in thought as he tried to figure out how to respond to her offer. Then, looking up at Shepard, he levelled his yellow eyes with her green ones, taking a deep breath as he prepared to speak.

"Why me?" he finally asked, his voice quiet and raw, as if from disuse.

Shepard felt a faint twinge of annoyance at his self-deprecating attitude, but her expression did not falter as she stared at him across the table. "You worked alongside Garrus on Omega as a strategist for his counter-strike team," she reminded him, though from the pained look on his face at her mention of it, it was clear that he had never forgotten. "He says you're one of the best strategists he's ever met. We need you to put that strategic prowess to work for us." Leaning forward towards him, she met his yellow eyes, holding his gaze with hers. "Help us form a plan of attack on the Reapers," she told him. "One they won't see coming. Give us something that will give us an edge over our enemy."

"Ten men are dead because of me," Sidonis spoke up then, raising his voice over hers. "In case you don't remember that from the last time we met. Ten brave men lying in unmarked graves, and it's all because of me. All because I was too blinded by my own greed to see what I was really doing." Looking down again, he fell silent once more, his mandibles giving a faint, circular dip away from the jagged line of his mouth as he ground his teeth together, remorseful self-hatred in his every sharp feature. "No one could want my help," he said, his voice quiet again. "Not after what I've done."

"Cut the self-pitying bullshit, Sidonis," Shepard suddenly snapped, rising to her feet and bringing her hand down on the table with a hard _slap_. "We all know what you did. I'm not here to forgive you for it. I'm just here to offer you a chance to prove that you've changed." Leaning forward on both palms, she fixed him with a hard stare, her rouge lips drawing into a hard, taut line. "Help us defeat the Reapers, Sidonis," she told him, her voice lower, intensive and personal. "Prove that you're a different person now. Prove that you've changed. This is your chance to make up for taking ten lives by helping us save ten billion."

Finished speaking, Shepard dropped back down into her chair, and for a long moment afterward, Sidonis could only stare at her, seemingly mesmerized, his yellow eyes wide, his mandibles quivering faintly in rapt anticipation. Then, taking a deep breath, he nodded his head, his eyes flashing with purpose as he sat up straighter in his chair to face her. "I accept," he told her. His voice was quiet, but his tone was taut with emotion. "I _am_ a changed turian," he said, the volume of his voice rising as his confidence in his decision grew. "I _will_ help you, Shepard. I _will_ help you to defeat the Reapers. _I accept_."

"Good man," Shepard said, leaning back in her chair, feeling accomplished. "Now let's see about getting you out of this hellhole and onto my ship."

"The—the Normandy?" Sidonis stammered, and if he had had human skin Shepard was sure it would have turned stark white. "I'm going to be coming aboard the Normandy?"

"Only temporarily," Shepard told him. "Only until we can drop you off at the Crucible station. You think you can handle that? Staying out of trouble? You think you can refrain from causing problems on my ship?"

"Yes ma'am," Sidonis breathed, hardly able to believe his luck. "Absolutely, ma'am."

"Good," Shepard agreed again, getting up from her seat and starting towards the door of the interrogation room. "I look forward to giving you the tour. I wouldn't go anywhere near the gun battery if I were you, though."

"Why?" Sidonis asked, turning around in his seat to look at her, quizzical. "What's in the gun battery?"

Shepard pressed a hand to the door, causing it to let out a loud noise, alerting the guard that she was ready to go. "Trouble," she answered, simply. Then, as soon as the door slid open again, she was gone.


	8. WEEK FIVE

The shuttle ride to Utukku was a quiet one. Vega had been only too happy to come along on the mission when Shepard had asked, and now sat on the shuttle bench, distractedly looking over his gun, making sure all the upgrades and modifications were properly installed. Javik had been less thrilled about being invited, but had done as he was told. He stood a few feet behind the Commander in the shuttle, holding onto one of the overhead railings and staring out the window at the passing spacescape, until finally he looked up at Shepard, one clawed finger tapping anxiously against the hard shell of his leg-armour. "Has there been any change in the situation, Commander?" he asked, breaking the wary silence.

"Our backup's waiting for us at the drop point," Shepard answered, straightforward, not bothering to glance back at him. "Arlakh Company. Krogan commandos."

"That is correct, Shepard," EDI's voice agreed over the intercom. "They are an accomplished unit. Their decisive action in liberating a colony from batarian pirates made them famous."

"Good to hear," Shepard replied. "Other than that, there's been no word from the team of krogan scouts since they went through the rachni relay."

Javik blinked lazily, his clawed, reptilian fingers curling comfortably around the curves of his gun. "In my cycle, we used the rachni as living weapons," he commented, offhanded.

Shepard frowned, turning to face him. "Weapons?" she asked, hoping for clarification.

"They were only animals then," Javik answered, impassive. "Without technology. Violent, but useful. When they became a problem, we burned two hundred worlds to stop them."

"That's messed up," Vega commented.

"Well, thankfully we didn't have to face the entire rachni army," Shepard returned, turning back around, her grip on the overhead handle tightening at the idea of so much destruction. "So that wasn't necessary. Either way, we're here to find out what happened to the krogan scouts. If the rachni _are_ involved, the situation changes. Just be ready for anything."

* * *

The Kodiak kicked up a bluster of dust and small rocks as it settled to a low hover over the surface of Utukku. Bracing herself, Shepard jumped down onto the hard-packed, rocky surface, hearing the sound of two more sets of heavy boots connect with the ground behind her. Waving to Cortez that he was clear to leave, she secured her helmet in place, watching as Vega did the same. Javik had opted not to wear his helmet on this mission – he claimed he did not see the reason, that it would only be needlessly confining, and Shepard had been in no mood to argue with him so she had let it go at that. From the drop-off point, the small party was quick to come upon a gathering of krogan scouts huddled around what looked to be a large stack of army supplies, and, coming from the middle of the crowd, Shepard could just make out the sound of a familiar voice giving orders.

"Grunt?" she asked, hardly able to contain a smile.

"Shepard?" Grunt turned, his reptilian blue eyes wide, looking for the source of the voice. Then, a huge, unmistakeable grin lighting up his scaly face, he pushed past two scouts, running up to Shepard with a deep, familiar laugh. "Shepard!" he exclaimed, giving her a friendly punch in the arm.

Shepard grabbed at her now-bruised arm, unprepared for such jubilant roughhousing, before quickly recovering with a laugh of her own. "What are you doing here?" she asked, giving him a quick once-over to see how he was faring.

"I could ask you the same question," Grunt returned, still smiling. "Didn't those idiots lock you up?"

"They did," Shepard confirmed. "Put me on lockdown to keep the batarians off me. Didn't want problems with the council while they prepared for war… but, the situation changed."

"Yeah," Grunt agreed. "They got bigger problems, all right. 'S why I'm out here running Arlakh Company. – And speaking of which, let me introduce you to my team…" Grabbing her by the arm, Grunt began to pull her in the direction of the gathered scouts like an eager child, but quickly let go, allowing her to follow at her own pace. "Shepard," he said, indicating a krogan who had his back turned to the two of them, "this is Urdnot Dagg. Dagg—"

"Commander Shepard," Dagg commented, turning to face her. "I'm second-in-command for Arlakh Company. I was told you're in command of this operation."

"That's right," Shepard confirmed, nodding.

Dagg moved forward, gripping his pistol, and leaned in towards Shepard, giving her a few good sniffs, causing her to rock back on her heels, uncomfortable. Once finished, Dagg grunted, moving back into his own space again, before jerking his head in Shepard's direction and looking over towards Grunt, critical. "Something about her smells off," he commented. "Something's not right."

Shepard felt her jaw lock, her fingers gripping anxiously at the edges of her leg-protectors, wondering if her pregnancy was causing her to give off a distinct smell to other species that she would not be able to be aware of, but her fears were soon put to rest when Grunt pushed out in front of her, throwing an arm across her protectively. "Back off," he warned. "The only thing you should be worried about concerning Shepard is how hard she's gonna kick your ass if you don't start respecting her. She's got enhancements you could only _dream_ of, Dagg. You better watch what you say around her."

Dagg snorted, giving Shepard a quick once-over, before taking another step back, respecting her boundaries. Grunt dropped his arm as well, allowing Shepard to step forward again, taking the forefront position. "I've heard about your accomplishments, Commander," Dagg told her, notably more deferential now. "I envy your enemies. To be hated by one so powerful speaks well of you. My krogan would destroy _anything_ we face to earn such a reputation!"

" _My_ krogan, you mean," Grunt corrected him, trying not to sound too chary.

"…Yes," Dagg agreed, but did not bother to correct himself further than that.

"Wrex speaks highly of this Company," Shepard put in, hoping to diffuse the situation, if only a little.

"Wrex," Dagg snorted, unimpressed. "Arlakh Company was _Wreav's_ idea."

"Arlakh may have been Wreav's idea, but it never would have gotten off the ground if it weren't for Urdnot Wrex," Grunt put in, shutting his second-in-command down once again. "As with _most_ things. Wreav wanted to make a point, to show the world that krogan are to be respected because they are to be feared. Wrex put this Company together to demonstrate krogan unity. He wanted a leader who represented the _future_ of our species. That's why I'm in command of this Company, Dagg, and not you."

Dagg grunted again, clearly displeased by the chain of command but unwilling to do anything rash to fight it. "I've been around a long time, Commander," he said, still addressing Shepard. "Fought many wars. Earned every scar. I know my kind, and I know my Company. Every krogan here wants blood."

"Well, I don't know about wanting blood," Shepard joked, "but if these krogan are half the soldier Grunt is, we might all have a chance of making it out of here alive." Reaching up, she put a fond, reassuring hand on Grunt's massive shoulder, causing him to give a low rumble of a flattered chuckle.

Dagg was less than thrilled. "I gotta tell you, Commander, there's something wrong about this place," he told her solemnly, pretending to ignore her buddy-buddy display with his commanding officer. "The rachni are here. I can _feel_ it in my guts."

"The _rachni_ ," Grunt repeated, more to himself than to Shepard, trying to hold back a giddy grin. "A chance to face the old enemy? Impossible to resist."

"We've seen some rachni," Shepard confirmed, retrieving her hand and letting it fall back to her side. "The Reapers got to the ones we saw, but we don't know yet if they're responsible for this."

"Of course, Commander," Dagg returned, and Shepard could not help but note a slightly irritated hint to his tone. "Even so, initial scans show that these tunnels connect to a large central point. Like a _nest_."

"Rachni have nests now?" Vega asked, incredulous.

Ignoring Vega's comment, Dagg turned away from the party, facing the rest of the krogan scouts. "Back to camp!" he commanded. "We're gonna do one last weapons check before heading down into the caves." Glancing back again, he caught Grunt's stare. "If it's okay with the commanding officer," he requested, trying to hide the obvious bitterness in his voice.

"Go ahead," Grunt answered, ignoring it.

Dagg snorted, unamused, before turning back to the scouting party and beginning to follow them towards the makeshift camp site. Propping his clawed hands on his broad hips, Grunt took a deep breath, before letting it out in a hefty sigh. Moving up beside him, Shepard propped her hands on her hips as well, before catching herself and crossing her arms instead, not wanting him to think she was intentionally mimicking him. "What happened to the scouting party?" she asked.

Grunt shrugged, not even seeming to notice her small, awkward blunder, and turned his attention to the sharp drop up ahead, only a few yards from the Arlakh camp. "Looks like something dropped half their camp down a hole," he answered, blunt, crossing his arms, causing Shepard to move hers back to her hips. "Their shuttle must have been lost as well. They weren't going anywhere. Doesn't matter. We're here to find the rachni and burn them out." He waved a half-hearted hand towards a dust-laden, creaking structure that still stood at the edge of the cliff, the last remainder of the previous party. "You can take a look through their stuff, if you want," he told her. "See if you can find anything worth salvaging. Don't know that there'd be anything you might want to use, but… you never know."

"It's always worth looking," Shepard agreed, shrugging, causing her armour to clack noisily with the gesture. "Don't want to take any unnecessary chances if we can avoid it."

Grunt chuckled, deeply. "You?" he asked, incredulous. "Commander Shepard? Taking unnecessary chances? Never."

Shepard grinned back at him, holding back a faint blush from rising to her ears, before turning away from Grunt and heading towards the rickety structure, allowing him to return to his company. The makeshift outpost creaked ominously under her weight as she made her way slowly up each step and into the heart of the building. Once inside, she could see that it was nearly empty. Several sparse, piping-framed beds had been shoved into the corners, and an empty chopping-block lay on an even emptier kitchen counter, but the weaponry table was bare, the only sign that anyone had ever once been there the scrapes and remnants left from modifying a weapon of some sort – a large one, from the looks of it.

Shepard passed a curious hand over the smooth, cool surface of the armoury table, but no sooner had she done so when she heard another, telltale creak, followed by a _crunch_ , before the entire edge of the cliff suddenly gave way beneath her and the tiny outpost went plummeting into the ravine with her still inside. The metal frame of the building gave an unholy screech as it skidded along the sides of the pit, the lurching motion causing Shepard to be thrown from her feet and out of the structure entirely, hitting the ground agonizingly hard. Looking up, she saw the building coming for her, and, reacting without thinking, she rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the outpost.

Laying on her back, too stunned to move, Shepard panted heavily, staring up at the swimming sky, wondering if she were dead and dreaming, or if that had really just happened. She could feel the faintest sick, warm sensation tingling between her legs, and she had to resist the urge to reach down to check if it were blood. Pushing herself shakily up onto all fours, and from there onto her feet, she staggered, still trying to regain her head, the voices of her teammates echoing wordlessly in her ears as they made their cautious way down into the ravine to her, Vega first, panicked and rushed, followed cautiously by Javik.

"Commander, are you okay?" Vega asked, grabbing Shepard's arm gently, pulling her fully upright.

"SHEPARD!" Grunt's deep voice reverberated through the canyon, causing her to look up, still stunned, squinting against the dark-orange glare of the planet's sun. Lifting a hand to block it out, she looked around the perimeter of the hole, her vision still blurry, until she finally managed to hone in on Grunt. "YOU STILL IN ONE PIECE?" Grunt called.

"The Commander is just eager to find the enemy, that's all!" Dagg guffawed back, just as loud.

Shepard steadied herself against Vega, trying hard not to listen to the panicked flurry of worries still spinning through her head. Turning, she stared dazedly down at the ground where she had fallen, looking for blood, but there did not seem to be any there. Still, that did not mean she was entirely clear; it only meant that if there _was_ bleeding, it was not heavy enough to have seeped through her armour. She supposed this was a good thing in itself – she was in no mood for Vega and a company of krogan to have to witness her bleeding from between her legs (she was sure to never hear the end of that one from Grunt) – but still, it meant she would have to wait until the end of the mission to check for spotting. Until then, she was sure the thought would be on her mind the whole time she was down here. At the very least, it would serve as a distraction from the rachni – however unwelcome a distraction it might be.

Pulling away from her teammate's grasp, Shepard waved a reassuring hand in Grunt's direction, taking a steadying step forward on her own, regaining her stalwart composure. "Looks like we're all okay!" she told him, hiding her worry. "Keep in radio contact. We're going in." She started to reach for her Marauder, but then stopped, seeing something glinting from a crevice in the base of the rock face. Moving over to it, she grabbed the metal grip of the object, yanking it out of its web-encased hiding spot to reveal a huge, hefty flamethrower. Shepard took a step back, unbalanced by the weight, before quickly regaining her footing, hoisting the heavy Firestorm into the crook of her arm and securing it against her armoured hip. Vega made a face as she brushed the webs away, but said nothing, instead gripping his own weapon even tighter as she waved them in towards the dark, dank entrance of the cave.

There was no use getting squeamish now, after all. It was only going to get worse from here.

* * *

Shepard had never before experienced a feeling of unease quite like the one she was feeling right now. To say the experience of walking through the rachni caves was unnerving would have been a criminal understatement – the caverns were enormous, with what seemed to be impossibly high ceilings, as far as could be guessed by the fact that the beams from their pistol lights could not reach all the way to the top. The air was stale, stuffy, and still, and the cave reverberated with unearthly quiet, broken only by the sound of dripping water from somewhere unseen or the occasional small crumbling of rock.  Most of the floor was wet, ranging from puddles barely half an inch deep to wading water up to their calves, but their light was not good enough to figure out what they were stepping in. A small miracle, Shepard thought, as she was not entirely sure she _wanted_ to know what she was stepping in. The atmosphere was making her sick enough as it was without the added discomfort of wondering if she were slogging through something's bodily fluids.

Another short blast from the Firestorm cleared away a thick, sticky web blocking a large passage entrance, and Shepard batted the singed flyaway strands away as she pushed her way through into the clearing, stepping up onto a blissfully dry rock platform as she made her way into the next room of the cave. Shifting the Firestorm more comfortably against the crook of her arm, she took a quick look around, noting the clusters of what appeared to be slimy, pulsating pustules that clung to the walls and floor, bunched up in the corners and along every wall of the room. Vega whistled, taken aback, as he joined her in the newest passage, but Javik, the last to enter, did not seem quite as impressed. Moving over to the spore pods, Vega crouched down, wetting his lips curiously as he leaned in towards the oddities, resting his gun distractedly across his lap as he observed them, watching them flash and pulse.

"Sick," he laughed, disgusted, and reached out a hand, intent to touch one of the pods. No sooner had his fingers made contact with the pod, however, than it burst like an overripe tomato, splattering him in a viscous, yellow liquid. At this, Vega shrieked, startled, and staggered to his feet, frantically attempting to wipe the foul-smelling liquid off of his visor, panicking as the sound of hissing began to reach his ears, the acrid stench of melting plexiglass reaching his senses, causing him to tear up at the smell. Rushing back to the water, Vega splashed some of it on his helmet, wiping off the remainder of the spore liquid before shaking it from his hands onto the floor. "What the hell is that?!" he demanded, pulling up his omni-tool to run a quick armour check.

"Their eggs," Javik answered, simply. "It is a defence mechanism. Although these are no ordinary eggs."

"Yeah, no shit," Vega returned, letting his omni-tool flicker out again, satisfied that his armour had sustained no life-threatening damage.

Shepard pursed her lips, her brow furrowing sternly as she held her breath as well as she could, trying to block out the stench of the burst pod sieving in through her breathing filter. She could feel the urge to vomit steadily building in the pit of her stomach, but she was not about to let herself do that here, not in front of her teammates, and especially not while wearing a helmet. Looking up towards Javik, she noted that all four of his eyes were trained on her, deadpan, unblinking, clearly not caring if she caught him staring.

"Are you feeling ill, Commander?" he asked, flatly.

Shepard faltered, a feeling of indignant anger now mingling with her previous feeling of nausea, her expression twisting into something wholly unreadable as she tried her hardest to keep herself in check. "I'm fine," she responded, forcefully. Turning back around, she readjusted the flamethrower at her hip, indicating for the three of them to continue further into the cave. "Let's keep moving," she told them, before adding in a low, quiet murmur, "Jackass."

* * *

They could still hear the eerie squeaking and skittering of large, insect-like feet across the rocks from somewhere in the cavern. As unnerving as it was that the rachni, known for their aggression, would suddenly back off apparently without provocation, Shepard was still glad that the onslaught seemed to have subsided, at least for the time being. It had been a struggle getting here, so to be allowed a breather from fighting off the Reaper-infected insects, however short, was a blessing she was not going to take for granted.

"Shepard!" Grunt's voice suddenly crackled over her headset, and Shepard stopped, letting her gun drop to her side as she raised her hand to her head, pressing the bud harder into her ear, hoping that would make it easier to hear. "The rachni are backing off," Grunt informed her, sounding out of breath. "But whatever spooked them won't last. _Finish the job_."

"Copy that," Shepard agreed, returning her hand to her gun and holding it at the ready. She treaded cautiously, clutching her pistol close to her chest as the team approached what looked like an enormous metal plate lodged in the rock wall, much like the other plates that had been attempting to trap them in here in the central chamber. As Shepard took another step closer to the plate, she suddenly felt the ground around her begin to shake, the cavern giving off a low rumble and high-pitched shriek of metal on rock as the plate suddenly sank, unprompted, into the cave floor. Shepard took a step back, gripping her gun, ready to fight, but her defensive stance soon faltered when she found herself face-to-face with someone – or something – she had never thought she would see again.

The rachni queen towered above her, her massive ant-like head swaying in distress, her curled front appendages clenching and unclenching anxiously. Her gleaming eyes seemed almost blinded by the darkness of the cave, looking nowhere in particular, and Shepard could tell from the thin trickle of what she guessed to be saliva dripping down the massive mouth-like pincer that the queen was scared, but she was still not naïve enough to let her guard down around the creature, even so. Taking a cautious step forward into the cavernous opening where the queen seemed to be wedged, unable to get out, Shepard wet her lips, anxiously, gripping her gun close to her just in case she had to use it.

The queen gave a rippling screeching sound, her dazed eyes turning downward to find Shepard in the darkness of the cave, and an unsettling sensation suddenly came over the cavern, an almost electrical energy that made Shepard's skin prickle under her sweaty armour. All around them, the webbed-in and carelessly strewn corpses of krogan scouts suddenly began to stir, lifting their heads, their eyes blank and focusless as they all stared forward, a low, soft humming filling the chamber. "Si…lence…" the krogan corpses gurgled, the chorus of voices an eerie, halted whisper.

"What the hell?!" Vega yelped, taking a startled step backward, clutching his gun to his chest.

The queen did not even seem to notice Vega's reaction, instead turning all of her attention to Shepard. "The… maddening sour note… has ceased…" the krogan chorus informed her, seeming almost relieved.

Shepard slitted her eyes, taking another cautious step forward as she looked up at the sickly-looking queen. "What are you?" she asked, wary.

"The last… queen," the queen answered, swaying on her long appendages. "We listen for the children… they are silent… hollow… The machines come and take them to war… they die alone… silent… far away…"

"The Reapers did this to you?" Shepard asked, frowning.

"Yes," the queen answered, the krogan voices almost seeming to breathe a sigh of relief at Shepard's quick understanding. "The sour note of the machines is… everywhere…"

Out of the corner of her eye, Shepard could see Vega training his gun on the nearest krogan corpse, and even Javik seemed to be on edge, though he tried hard not to show it. Taking a bold step forward, Shepard looked up towards the rachni queen, craning her neck as she sought to make eye contact with the enormous figure. "I let you go back on Noveria," Shepard told her, critical. "You promised not to interfere anymore. The rachni were supposed to disappear."

"We remember," the queen returned, almost sadly. "We kept our promise, retreated back through the relay. We started a new home… beautiful children. Harmony." As she continued to speak, Javik moved up to one of the animated corpses behind Shepard, reaching out a hand to almost touch the cold face, intrigued. "But… the machines came. They heard our song. Their shriek of sour notes drowned us out!"

"They can't hurt you anymore," Shepard assured her, holding up a calming hand.

"Yes," the queen agreed, giving a swaying bob of her massive head. "We… understand."

"Can you still feel the Reapers?" Shepard asked, testing the waters. "Can they still influence you?"

"We hear the machines, but they cannot control us," the queen returned, honestly. Looking over towards the wall of the rock crevice, she indicated with her head towards a large, glowing disc set into an ominous-looking metal clamp that Shepard had not noticed before. "Remove this last shackle… and we are free!" she pleaded. Then, lifting her giant head to the sky, she gave a distressed flail, her massive limbs shifting around heavily, causing the floor of the cavern to shake with the movement. "What?" she insisted. "The children return. They will destroy us all! _Release us!_ "

Suddenly, Shepard's comm earpiece crackled to life, and Grunt's voice could be heard breaking through the static. "We're getting movement here," Grunt warned. "A lot of movement…"

"Copy that, Grunt," Shepard answered. Then, turning her attention back to the queen, she took another step forward, insistent. "Are you capable of fighting the Reapers?" she demanded.

"We hate the machines," the queen returned, the voices of the krogan scouts almost a hiss. "We will fight for our unborn children. For all the unborn children. Release us!"

Shepard faltered, taken aback by the queen's wording, but she hardly had time to wonder if the queen had somehow figured her out when Vega suddenly shook his head, turning to look at Shepard, frowning. "She's a mess," he told her. "She needs too much time to escape."

"Shepard, we're out of time!" Grunt's voice came through the earpiece again. "We stay here, Arlakh Company dies – is that clear?!"

Shepard had only a split second to think about it, but that was all it took to make up her mind. "Listen up," Shepard commanded. "Arlakh Company holds the rachni off while the queen escapes." Looking up at the queen again, she nodded to her, solemn. "We'll buy you some time," she told her. Then, turning away from the queen, she turned her attention down towards her gun, readying it, pressing her comm into her ear with her shoulder-guard. "Grunt," she insisted, "fall back to our position and lead us out."

"Damn you, Shepard!" Grunt's voice blasted over the ear comm. "I'm leaving my team. I'm on my way!"

"Are you certain about this, Commander?" Javik asked, eyeing her warily from over near one of the dead krogan scouts. Shepard turned, shooting him a glance, preparing to retort, but then decided against it, instead making a hard, downward sweeping hand gesture in his general direction.

"That's an order!" she demanded. "She's too valuable an asset to lose!" Quickly loading a fresh thermal clip, Shepard aimed her gun towards the glowing disc attached to the far wall, letting off a volley of shots until finally the panel burst in a shower of sparks, the metal clamp popping off its place on the stone wall and clattering loudly to the floor as the queen eagerly pulled her appendages free of their restraints. Straightening to her full, monstrous height, the queen let out a roar of relief, the interior of her mouth glowing brightly in the darkness of the cavern. Shepard turned away from her again, returning her attention to her comm earpiece. "It's done," she said. "She's free. Now get us outta h—"

But the words had not even had a chance to leave her lips before Shepard suddenly stopped, clutching at her head and falling to her knees, feeling as though her brain were tightening on itself. Every feeling, every sensation, every function felt constricted, cut off, and her eyes rolled back in her head as she dropped to all fours, and then to the ground, convulsing, her hands moving back up to grasp fruitlessly at her head, her legs writhing in indescribable pain. It felt as though all of her organs were shrivelling, her heart racing uncontrollably, her throat tightening. She wheezed in agony, her back arching as what felt like an enormous needle was driven into her brain, and gave out a sharp cry, pulling off her helmet and tossing it aside as she turned over, pressing her forehead into the damp rock in an effort to quell the agonizing pain.

She could hear the sound of the rachni queen's screeching inside of her head, what she guessed was their music, but in her agony none of it made any sense to her. It was a message, that much she was able to decipher, but more than that was too painful, too convoluted for her to figure out. There was just noise and light, blinding light, before it finally let up, and she found herself curled up on the stone floor, her head still throbbing, a thin trickle of blood seeping from her nose. She hardly registered the sound of the wall of the cavern blasting open and Grunt making his way inside, splashing across the rancid pool of water to where Shepard and her companions still lingered, until she felt Grunt grab her off the ground, picking her up and straightening her posture, before draping her arm around his shoulder and making his way towards the hole he had made.

"Saving your ass again," Grunt commented, half-jokingly.

Pushing herself away from his support, Shepard struggled to stand on her own, stumbling once before catching herself, still feeling light-headed. Then, attempting to wipe the blood from her face, hardly noticing that she only managed to smear it across her cheek in the process, she shook her head, letting out a hoarse, forced laugh. "Not a chance," she croaked. Holding out a hand, Shepard reached for her helmet, which Vega handed her, and then, clutching her weapon proudly, she looked back at Grunt, who was staring at her with a look half of concern and half of determination. "Now let's get out of here," she said.

Grunt was only too happy to agree.

* * *

The Kodiak shuddered and bumped with turbulence as the shuttle pushed its way through the thick, murky atmosphere and into open space, giving a small kickback as it exited the grungy planet's pull as it made its way towards the waiting hangar of the Normandy. Shepard leaned back in her seat, her legs stretched out in front of her, glad to be off her feet. Her hand rested subconsciously across her stomach, her fingers drumming a distracted, worried pattern against the shell of her armour as she stared at a spot on the wall across the shuttle, deep in thought. The fall from the outcropping in the Arlakh camp had never left her mind, and now that she had time to think about it, she realized that she should probably have anticipated something like that happening.

This was war. It was inevitable that she would fall down, get knocked around, and even sometimes get seriously hurt. This was not one of those times – the fall had probably bruised her in a few places, but it took more than a tumble like that to put her out of commission – but still she realized that she was fooling herself to think that she might be able to avoid another incident, even one as minor as that, for nine whole months. Even if the physical trauma did not kill the child, the stress of the war drawing closer at hand was certain to do it just as effectively. Turning her head, she looked over at Grunt, who sat beside her on the Kodiak's low bench. The bench had been built to accommodate between three and four people, but between the two of them there did not seem to be any room left for anyone else to sit.

"You're gonna need a shower when you get back to the ship," Shepard told him, trying to lift the mood, hiding her worry. "You stink like rachni guts."

"Yeah?" Grunt returned, grinning as he turned to look at her. "Well, you don't exactly smell like a flower garden yourself."

"Better than you," Shepard answered, chuckling.

Grunt chuckled back, glad for the light break, and scooted over across the bench towards Shepard, purring gently as he nuzzled his enormous head against her armoured shoulder, a low, satisfied rumble in the folds of his throat. Reaching around as far as her arm would go, Shepard stroked his rough, battle-worn scales gingerly, her fingertips tracing the grooves between the plates, feeling his dry, scaly skin against the pads of her fingers. For a long moment they stayed that way, an odd silence falling between them but for Grunt's low rumbling, as if both knew the moment would not last, but neither wanted to admit to it. Moments like this, quiet, restful moments, were so rare that even when they did happen, no one seemed to believe in them.

"Grunt," Shepard suddenly spoke up again, wetting her lips, breaking the moment. "What… do you think…" She faltered, fading out, unsure of what she was trying to ask, biting her lip as her words jumbled up in her throat. Grunt opened one baby blue eye, the translucent vertical eyelid sliding lazily back as he turned it up towards her. Shepard looked down at him, meeting his curious gaze. Then, taking a deep breath, she raised her brows, apprehensive. "Do you think… I…" she tried again, but again the question got stuck in her throat.

Grunt blinked at her, silent, listening, his expression unchanging. Then, letting out a deep, rumbling breath, he closed his eye again, satisfied. "Probably," he told her, evenly.

Shepard faltered, taken aback, making a face as she looked over at him, surprised. "You don't even know what I was going to ask," she told him, feeling a small, incredulous smile beginning to touch the corners of her lips. "For all you know I was going to ask something totally ridiculous."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Grunt returned, shrugging his broad shoulders as he readjusted himself on the seat, sliding over further towards her to settle more comfortably against her shoulder. "Still, my answer stays the same. Probably. Whatever it is. Knowing you. Probably."

"So you think I should do it?" Shepard asked.

"Yup," Grunt answered, assuredly.

Shepard nodded, turning her attention away again, distracted. No sooner had she done that than she felt Grunt shift in his seat, reaching over to take hold of her hand in his huge, clawed fist, and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Shepard looked down, a bit dazed, before sliding her fingers through the gaps between his and holding his hand as well, letting her chin rest tiredly against his head on her shoulder. Somehow, the smell did not even bother her anymore. "Thanks, Grunt," she said, quietly.

"Anytime," Grunt answered.

* * *

"Mordin."

Mordin looked up from his work, blinking a few times, but other than that his expression did not change. He did not seem surprised to see Shepard standing in the doorway of the medbay, but neither did he appear overjoyed by her unannounced arrival. He was a busy man, and work was his priority. Across the room, Eve still sat on her bunk, her legs dangling off the side, a tray of nearly-finished supper across her knees. She had been given permission to explore the ship, but seemed to prefer staying in the medbay. She claimed the beds here were more comfortable than they were in the overflow quarters, but Shepard suspected it also had something to do with the company she preferred to keep. As little as Eve liked to admit it, Shepard could see that she and Mordin were quickly becoming good friends.

"Shepard," Mordin returned, evenly. "How can I help y—"

"I want an abortion," Shepard announced, cutting over him. Her voice was hard, her expression set, but there was an unmistakeable fear in her eyes, a hesitation threatening to make her crack. Mordin stared at her for a moment, blinking, his expression unreadable, allowing the uncomfortable silence to stretch. Even Eve had looked up by now, her eating utensil abandoned at a corner of her tray, the only sound in the medbay the soft hissing and beeping of machinery. Then, clearing his throat, Mordin took a deep breath.

"Come again?" he asked, still unreadable. If anything, his inquiry seemed almost polite.

Shepard hesitated, reaching out one hand to rest it against the sleek doorframe, the other curling into a loose, anxious ball at her side as she took a deep, shaky breath, lifting her chin. "I want to terminate my pregnancy," she repeated, more forcefully.

Mordin stared at her for another long moment, letting her statement hang in the air like a bad omen. Then, drawing his hands in front of him, his pointed fingers laced together in thought. "I take it you have given some thought to this," he said. "Weighed options. Researched alternatives. Pondered ramifications." He paused, before the ridges of his brows moved upward in faint curiosity. "Consulted child's father?" he asked, tentatively.

Shepard faltered, taken aback. Then, "No," she answered, giving a curt shake of her head. "I haven't told G—him, yet. I thought—"

"Thought it would be kinder not to tell," Mordin jumped in, cutting over her. "Not to give false hope. Didn't want to cause conflict. Knew father would most likely disapprove of termination. Needed to circumvent. Needed one hundred percent certainty you were doing the right thing."

"N… no," Shepard answered, her brows drawing together in a confused frown. "That wasn't… really…"

"Consulting father would decimate certainty," Mordin guessed again, going a different route this time. "Cause internal turmoil. Stress. Loss of sleep. Flared tempers. Bad for morale."

"I can't put the galaxy at risk for my own selfish agenda, Mordin," Shepard told him, cutting his guessing game short. "I can't do that. I have to focus my attention on the mission at hand. _All_ of my attention, on destroying the Reapers. On making the galaxy a safer place. A place… a world I'd feel good about bringing a child into." Shaking her head, she made a finalistic, downward gesture with her hand. "This is not that world," she said. "Not here. Not now. But maybe, if we defeat the Reapers – no, _after_ we defeat the Reapers… if we live through all of this, maybe… maybe then I can try again. But not right now. Not with this child."

Finished speaking, Shepard dropped her hand from the frame of the door, folding her arms, anxiously, waiting for Mordin's response. Instead of responding immediately, Mordin was silent for a long moment, letting the harsh logic of what Shepard had just said sink in. Then, taking a deep, thoughtful breath in, his auburn eyes slid half-closed, and he gave a small, slow, understanding bob of his head.

"I understand your logic," he told her. "However, have small request. Heard you… took a fall on Utukku. Long drop. Hard landing."

"You should really be more careful, Shepard," Eve commented, pointedly. "You could seriously hurt something like that."

"I'm not—I didn't do it on purpose," Shepard argued. "The thing… the ground, fell out from under me, I…" Sighing, she turned her attention back to Mordin, running a frustrated hand through her hair, which was still wet from the shower. "I'm okay," she assured him. "Just a couple bruises is all. Nothing to get concerned about. I take harder falls all the time, Mordin, you know I do."

"Still, is reason for concern," Mordin told her. "Considering other factors. But, request. Considering fall, would like to… check up on foetus. Before you make decision."

Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, Shepard frowned, leaning back against the doorframe. "Why?" she asked. "I already said I wanted to terminate. I don't think there's any real necessary reason to check up on—"

"Precautionary measure," Mordin told her. "Not to worry. Won't take long. Come with me." Waving one thin hand for her to follow him, Mordin turned, heading towards the door at the back of the medbay, towards the medical living quarters and primary power hub. Pushing herself away from the doorframe, Shepard followed him, passing Eve as she did so, trying hard not to be unnerved by the harsh green eyes that followed her through the door before it closed shut behind the two of them. Turning to face her, Mordin gave a soft sigh, holding up his thin hands apologetically. "Apologize for pressing you," he told her, making sure to keep his voice down. "Did not want to speak about this in front of Eve. Childbirth, touchy subject. Did not want to upset her."

"I'm… sorry," Shepard said, her eyebrows shooting upward, feeling suddenly very guilty. "I didn't even think about that."

"Not to worry," Mordin assured her, shaking his head. "Were thinking of other things. Which, agree with, by the way. Logic is sound. But, should still check up on it. For medical purposes." Accessing his omni-tool, he tapped in a few commands before some sort of scanning software pulled up on the main hologram screen, humming loudly. Looking up at Shepard again, Mordin beckoned her over. "Lift shirt, please," he told her, and Shepard did as she was told, lifting her hoodie and shirt up to her chest to allow Mordin to pass his omni-tool slowly in front of her stomach, collecting data. When he was finished, he took a step back, allowing the scan information to process, before finally an image pulled up on his screen, which was quickly flooded with scrolling text.

Letting her shirt and hoodie drop, Shepard fidgeted, watching Mordin, not wanting to pry but wanting to know the significance of the data he had collected. "I checked for spotting," she told him, trying to be helpful but not wanting to seem too overeager. "In the shower earlier. I thought I might have started bleeding after my fall, but it was just a false alarm. There wasn't any blood in my armour, or in my… clothes." Going silent again, she tucked her hands under each opposite arm, biting her lower lip. Then, collapsing his omni-tool, Mordin turned to face her again.

"Spotting not necessarily only indicator that harm has been done," he informed her, evenly. "Only most extreme indicator. Either way, foetus still intact. Doing fine. Healthy, even. Most likely due to armour cushioning fall. Took majority of the hit. As you guessed earlier, injuries sustained mainly superficial. Primarily bruising." He pursed his thin lips then, his brow drawing inward in a faint frown, and braced his fingertips together, thoughtful. "Shepard," he told her. "Have… small request. Actually, large request. You may not like it, but have to ask anyway…" Taking a deep breath, he blinked rapidly, his thin shoulders stiffening, bracing for impact.

"Would prefer to wait to do termination," he told her. "Please— hear me out. Will still do procedure, of course. Just, afraid doing procedure now would upset Eve. Need her to remain healthy. Emotional distress would be… bad, for healing body." Holding out his hands in an apologetic gesture, he took a short, sharp intake of breath. "Do not think Eve is _incapable_ of handling the idea of termination," he clarified. "An adult, after all. Intelligent. But now is… turbulent time." Clasping his hands together again, he bobbed them downward once, thoughtful, strangely reassuring, before giving a curt nod of his head.

"Would request we wait until after TuChanka," he told her. "Would make the most sense for everyone involved. Mission is simple, and foetus still in earliest stages of development. Even if mission is delayed a short time, should not be overly detrimental to functionality at this point."

"Wait for TuChanka?" Shepard repeated, stunned. "But that's—" Putting her hand to her head, she let out a heavy, anxious huff of breath, staring distractedly at the floor as she attempted to weigh the options. "That's a long way away, Mordin," she told him, looking up at him again, anxious. "At least a week's travel, maybe more. Maybe two weeks, depending on if we head there straight away or take time to pick up supplies. Will I still be okay to terminate in two weeks?"

"Will be unpleasant," Mordin warned, honestly. "But can still be done. If it is too much to ask, I can do procedure now. However, would much prefer to go to TuChanka, get mission over with… then, once Eve has left, will be happy to do procedure right away, if you still want it." He tapped the tapered tips of his thin fingers together, keenly, his burnt-umber eyes never leaving her face as he waited for her to decide. "Is up to you," he told her, finalistic.

Shepard bit her lip, running her hand back through her hair, before finally letting it drop to her side again, defeated. "Okay," she answered, sighing. "I'll do it. I'll wait for TuChanka. Eve is… well, she's our last hope for peace between the krogans and the salarians, and we need both if we're going to win this war. So I'll wait. For Eve's sake."

"Excellent," Mordin gave what could almost have been a sigh of relief. "Now, just one more request, Shepard. Might be a bit strange. Could you, perhaps… pretend to have changed your mind? Pretend to be keeping child? At least until out of clinic. For Eve's sake."

Shepard faltered, feeling an odd, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was a simple request, and it made sense, but something about it still made her feel uneasy. But, putting on a false smile, she nodded, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, and shrugged. "Can't wait to be a mommy," she practiced, trying hard not to grit her teeth.

* * *

"Playing with toys, Commander?"

Shepard turned, glancing over her shoulder towards the figure standing in the doorway of her cabin, before turning back to her model ship, setting it down on the desk in front of her, and leaning tiredly back in her chair. "Models," she corrected him, tiredly. "They're model ships. Not toys."

"But you are still playing with them, are you not?" Javik observed, blunt as always.

Pursing her lips, Shepard opted to ignore this comment, instead pushing her chair back to allow herself to stand up, before picking up the model rachni ship and carefully replaced it on its hook in the window panel of her desk. In all honesty, she could not care less what Javik thought of her – his idea of constructive criticism generally leaned more towards _destructive_ criticism, and she was not about to let him ruin her hobby for her with one small, throwaway insult. "What can I help you with, Javik?" she asked, turning around to face him again, this time leaning half-interestedly against the desktop as she stared at him, intent.

Javik stared back at her, silent, contemplative, clearly trying hard to hide the fact that two of his eyes kept flicking towards her model ship collection, intrigued. "Simple curiosity," he finally answered, evenly. "In the cave, before we left to join the Arlkah group—"

"Arlakh Company," Shepard corrected him.

"The rachni queen… she spoke to you," Javik continued, ignoring her. "She took control of your body, your mind, and… said something to you. Something that we could not hear or understand."

At this, Shepard frowned, taken aback by his almost unnerving assessment of what, to almost anyone else, might have been a completely unknown and frightening situation. "That's a bit of a stretch, don't you think?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest, guarding herself from his scrutiny. "What makes you think she talked to me at all? Maybe I was just having another bout of sickness, as you're so fond of pointing out I have from time to time."

"This was not sickness," Javik returned, flatly. "I have only seen it happen once or twice before, this… hijacking of a living being. In my cycle, the rachni were much smaller, but also much more potent in their ability to communicate psychically. Your rachni, they can only communicate through bodies in biological distress. She taps into a dead mind with a still-active nervous system, or a weakened mind with an even more active nervous system, in order to communicate. Or a fully-functional but willing mind." His four eyes blinked in individual succession, causing Shepard's skin to run cold for a split second, and she quickly put a hand to her upper arm, disconcerted by the reaction.

"As for you, your biological distress made your mind weak, as your body is more focused on other things, such as breaking down, or… appearing to break down," Javik went on, not seeming to notice anything. "Fighting itself. Have you ever seen a queen use bodies that were not freshly dead to communicate with?"

"I've only ever seen the one queen," Shepard confessed, rubbing her upper arm apprehensively. "But… there was one asari I met, back on the Citadel, who let the queen use her as a mouthpiece willingly, and she was still alive."

"Willingly," Javik repeated.

"Yes," Shepard answered. "She… said the queen helped her, so she was letting the queen use her to spread her message. Willingly."

"But she did not take your mind willingly," Javik pointed out.

"No," Shepard admitted, truthfully. "She didn't."

"And all of the other unwilling subjects she has used… the bodies she used," Javik pressed, slowly but surely getting to his point. "They were always freshly dead?"

"More or less, I guess," Shepard conceded. "Though I don't know how long those krogan scouts were down there. Could be a couple days, could be… two weeks."

"Still relatively fresh," Javik returned.

"If you say so," Shepard answered, shrugging.

"But the queen spoke to you," Javik repeated, insistent. "And you are avoiding my question. What did she say?"

Shepard looked away, her attention returning to her chair, and she slowly sat back down in it, thoughtful, before turning her gaze back up towards Javik again, serious. "She said… that… even the best of intentions sometimes yield the most horrific of results," she told him, truthfully. "She said that I should take care what decisions I make in the long run. Which seems like it would be common sense, but… I guess she thought it was worth mentioning?" Shrugging, she twisted her mouth to one side, pensive. "She was probably talking about me sparing her life on Noveria," she figured. "Only to have her end up there in that cave, watching her children being turned into monsters by the Reapers… it's a terrible fate, to be sure."

"Yes," Javik replied, deadpan, clearly not in agreement. "That must be what she meant."

Shepard frowned, irritated, reaching out to take hold of a small, starry-pattern bouncy ball sitting on her desk and beginning to fidget with it. "Well, what do you think it means, Javik?" she challenged, looking up at him, annoyed. "Since you don't seem to like my guess. What do you think her message means?"

Javik frowned, his lips pursing into a hard line. "You know what I think it means, Commander," he told her. "You are clearly only trying to antagonize me."

Shepard clutched the bouncy ball, gripping it tightly, frustrated, before finally letting her hand unclench, letting out a soft, defeated sigh. "I'm sorry, Javik," she told him. "I'm not meaning to antagonize you. I just… feel like we don't always see eye to eye, you know? I'm just… I'm under a lot of stress right now. You understand."

"I do not," Javik answered, flatly. "I do not understand why you insist on creating situations that will only ensure additional stress for yourself. I do not know why you make something so simple out to be such a difficult and complicated problem. Your responsibility is to your ship, your crew. Your galaxy. You are a commander. This is war. Everything else is unimportant."

Shepard faltered, taken aback by his harsh attitude, feeling her metaphorical hackles starting to rise. "You really feel that way?" she asked. "That war, duty… that they are the most important things in this life? You'd pick your responsibility to your troops over your responsibility to your family?"

"Yes," Javik said, simply. "Every time. Without hesitation." He was silent a moment, sucking thoughtfully on his lower lip, before taking in a short, soft breath. "Then again, I am not you," he added. "I only know how much value I put on each of those things. I cannot speak for you and your values, or your motivation." He paused again, and for a single moment Shepard thought that perhaps the two of them could see eye-to-eye. "But I can question your judgement," Javik suddenly added, and all illusion of camaraderie was quickly shattered. "When you put the lives of billions of innocents on the same pedestal as the life of one as yet unborn. One who has never had life versus all of those who wish to retain theirs. People whose lives already have value."

"You think my child—" Shepard began, but then stopped, catching herself, before taking in a deep breath, settling her nerves, and trying again. "You think my… that it… its life… that it doesn't have value?"

"Not yet," Javik answered, frankly. "It does not even yet have a name. You do not even seem to know what to call it. How can something have value that does not even have a title?" He snorted, glancing towards the door, before folding his arms across his chest and letting out a deep, tired sigh. "I must take my leave now," he informed her. "The asari is looking for me, and I fear she will try up here next. I believe the turian saw me getting into the lift and may tell her so if she asks around. I do not believe it would be in my best interest if she were to find me. She is very… curious."

"Yeah," Shepard agreed, darkly, more than ready for him to be gone already. "She does that."


	9. WEEK SIX

When the Primarch had expressed an interest in speaking with Shepard in private about an "important matter", she could not help but feel a bit uneasy about it. The political neutrality between the krogan and the turians was still shaky at best, even after the Primarch's agreement to help with the efforts towards curing the genophage, so to have him now going behind Wrex's back to ask special favours of her was uncomfortable, if not downright shady. Still, she had agreed to at least hear out his request, not wanting to make such an important enemy, and had met with him in a secluded corner of the war room, the soft whirring and beeping of the war asset map the only sounds in the quiet room apart from their hushed voices.

Once they were there, his request had been simple, if cryptic: go to TuChanka and rescue a turian platoon whose ship had crashed on the planet's surface, stranding them there. He explained that the ship had been flying in krogan airspace without the knowledge of the krogan – thus his need for secrecy – but more than that he refused to say, except that his request was made all the more pressing by the fact that his son was in charge of the crashed platoon, and that the mission was "a matter of galactic peace". Shepard had been uneasy at his unwillingness to give up any more information about what was clearly such a vital mission, but decided not to press the matter, instead agreeing that she would find his son's platoon and bring them back to safety once they reached TuChanka and had a chance to look.

Cortez had spent the traveling time to TuChanka working on tuning up the Kodiak, so that by the time they arrived in krogan airspace the shuttle was already primed to go. Shepard zipped up her undersuit, smoothing the rigid material over her stomach, fussing, before finally convincing herself that there was nothing showing and turning to the plated armour she had laid out on the bed. Propping her hands on her hips, she let out a heavy breath, readying herself for the mission to the planet's surface. Once they had rescued the Primarch's son, all that was left to do was to cure the genophage, and then all of this would be over. There would be no more sickness, no more unfounded irritation, no more crewmates asking her if she were feeling all right, no more constantly checking her appearance in every reflective surface they passed to make sure nothing was showing. It would all be over, all of it, and she would finally be free to focus on the impending war with the Reapers.

Picking up one of her hefty armoured boots, Shepard sat down on the bed, starting to pull it on, when she suddenly heard the sound of the door of her cabin sliding open. When she looked up, she was surprised to see EDI standing in her doorway. The AI zeroed in on her almost immediately, taking a few steps into the room towards her and letting the door hiss shut behind her before nodding her head in greeting. "Hello, Shepard," she said. "I hope you do not mind me interrupting you. I wanted to talk to you, and thought now would be a good time to do so, while you are getting ready to go planetside. If this is not a good time, however—"

"You came all the way up here to talk to me?" Shepard asked, clicking the pieces of her boot into place so that it would not shift on her foot when she moved. "Couldn't you have just, I dunno… used the intercom system? Wouldn't that be easier? I thought you were everywhere."

"I _am_ everywhere," EDI replied, calmly. "Which is why I thought it would be better if I were to come up here to speak personally. Because of the delicate nature of my inquiry. I did not think you wished to talk about this on such a public platform." Shepard looked up at her again, taken aback, her brow drawing into a frown as she settled the first piece of calf-armour into place, strapping it around her leg before clicking it into place with the second piece. "I could be wrong, however," EDI amended her statement. "I do not know how you feel about it, exactly. Which was, actually, what I wished to talk to you about, Shepard. If you would not mind humouring me for a little while."

"I don't know if I like where this is going," Shepard admitted. "What did you want to talk about, EDI?"

EDI hesitated, fidgeting, her long fingers curling anxiously around one another in front of her in what Shepard recognized as a nervous habit of Liara's that the AI had clearly picked up through imitation. "I was merely wondering, Shepard," EDI finally spoke. "When you intended to… let on to the other members of the crew about your… unique condition."

Shepard instantly stopped putting on her armour, sitting up straight on the bed and staring at EDI with an intensity that would melt iron. "What unique condition?" she demanded, no longer amused.

EDI seemed surprised, more by the fact that Shepard was denying it than by the fact that she seemed upset by it. "Surely you know to what I am referring," she answered, blunt. "The fact that you are pre—"

"I know," Shepard cut her off, holding up a hand. "I know what my 'unique condition' is, EDI. I just want to know how _you_ know."

"As you said, I am everywhere," EDI answered simply, dropping her hands to her sides again. "I have access to all information on the ship. It was not difficult to find this information in the medical files. I thought it was… unusual, that Mordin had locked them, so I decided to investigate, to see if anything was wrong that would be pertinent to the safety of the crew. That is how I discovered about your…" She hesitated again, not wanting to upset Shepard further. "…Condition," she said.

"So basically you were spying on me?" Shepard insisted, venomous.

"I do not think it could really be considered _spying_ , Shepard," EDI returned. "I was simply checking on you, to make sure your health was of no concern to the rest of the crew."

"Don't you think Mordin would have _said_ something if it was going to be a problem?" Shepard asserted, nettled.

"I am not sure," EDI replied, honestly. "I do not know how Mordin operates. He is… unpredictable. However, my actions were not unfounded, regardless. Certain members of the crew were commenting on how you were acting… different, lately. Irritable. Sickly. Standoffish. I merely wished to see if there was an explanation for it." She tilted her head, blinking once, slowly, again acting by imitation. "My intentions were nothing but good, Shepard," she assured her.

"Yeah, well, you know what they say," Shepard returned flatly, pulling up her other boot and beginning to strap it on. "No good deed goes unpunished and all that."

"If by 'they' you mean Clare Boothe Luce, then yes," EDI replied. "I believe that was said. Regardless, my intentions were nothing but good."

Shepard blew out a tired breath, reaching over on her bed to pick up one of her arm-guards, which she strapped snugly onto her forearm, listening for the telltale click. Sliding her omni-tool sensor onto her hand, she flexed her hand distractedly before looking up at EDI again and resting an elbow against her knee. "It doesn't matter either way, EDI," she told her, solemnly. "I won't have to worry about telling anyone about it soon, because… after we cure the genophage, there won't be anything to tell."

"What do you mean?" EDI asked.

"What do you _think_?" Shepard returned, strapping on her second calf-protector and locking it securely into place with her boot.

"Do you feel you have no other option?" EDI asked, earnestly curious. "Or are you doing it by choice? I have done some research on the extranet about it, and I read that asari Commandos who decide to meld and have children while still in the service will sometimes continue fighting up to three months into their pregnancy. Some will leave the service earlier on in their term, but others who decide not to do so say it does not really directly affect their ability to fight until that point." She shrugged, tucking her hands dutifully behind her back, thinking herself helpful. "I thought perhaps you might find that interesting," she said, sincere.

"Is that—is that so, EDI?" Shepard insisted, feeling her patience wearing thinner with every word out of the AI's mouth. "Is it? Asari Commandos? And asari Commandos, they're exactly the same as humans? Their, something—thousand-year lifespan, that doesn't directly affect how long their pregnancies last, you don't think?" She scoffed, throwing up her hands in frustration. "You don't think that three months for an asari might, _might_ , not be the same thing as three months for a human?" she demanded. "Just _maybe_?"

"I… I am not sure," EDI admitted, blinking rapidly, put on the spot. "I did not think to check asari pregnancy terms versus human pregnancy terms. I can run a search right now, if you would like—"

"No, I would not like… look." Shepard sighed, resting her elbows on her knees and letting her head drop into her hands, tired. "It's not… there is no 'maybe both' option, EDI," she explained, weary. "There's just not. I can't go on like this. I can't keep fighting when I feel like this. And I can't just… quit, on the galaxy. That's just not an option. There's only one course of action at this point. End of discussion." Her own finality surprised her, but she did not waver from her point, instead turning her heated attention back to her armour, continuing to put it on, securing each piece with a frustrated fervour.

EDI was silent, watching as Shepard continued to don her armour, her blank silver eyes observing her with a polite, detached interest. When Shepard stood, attempting to strap on her midriff guard, EDI moved forward, helping her to tighten it in the back, warranting a frustrated grunt from Shepard when it fit more snugly than she remembered it doing before. Letting out a hefty breath, Shepard picked up her breastplate, slipping it on over her head, and tightened the straps on either side, clicking it into place with her midriff guard, checking to make sure it was secure and snug. EDI blinked again, observant, clasping her hands politely behind her back as Shepard continued adding pieces of her armour to her ensemble, until finally, she was nearly finished putting her suit together.

"Shepard," EDI suddenly spoke up again, interrupting her trying to figure out which shoulder-guard went on which shoulder. "Would you mind telling me… what it feels like to have a life growing inside of you? All I have ever been able to access has been statistical data about pregnancy, which… it is simply not the same."

"You can't find anybody else to talk about it with you?" Shepard asked, uncomfortable, finally figuring out where each of her shoulder-guards belonged. Turning away from EDI, she bent down, picking up her upper-arm guards from where they sat on the bed, sliding them into place on each arm and securing them tightly.

"There are blogs on the extranet talking about personal experiences with pregnancy, of course," EDI replied, fairly. "But they are all strangers. I would much rather hear about it from someone I know and trust. A friend." She shrugged, lightly, starting to fidget gently again. "You are my friend, Shepard," she told her. "That, and… I know I will never experience pregnancy for myself, which… makes me… I suppose it is… sad."

"It doesn't matter, EDI!" Shepard suddenly snapped, whirling on the AI, her second upper-arm guard still clutched in her hand. "You're just a machine. Machines don't _have_ feelings. Whatever you think this 'sadness' is, it— it's not that. If I were you, I would be _happy_ not to ever have to go through this, or whatever… combination of zeroes and ones 'happy' feels like to you." Throwing the arm-guard back on the bed in frustration, Shepard scoffed loudly, angry. "Life must be so much simpler as a robot!" she insisted, harsh. "You don't have to worry about how other people feel, because you always seem to have all the answers! Why do you even need me, EDI? Why don't you _download_ a pregnancy, huh? Why don't you look it up on the _extranet_?! I bet that's what _asari Commandos_ do!"

Breathing heavily, Shepard fell silent, realizing too late what she had done. Sitting back down on the bed, she sighed, worn out, and rested her face in her hands again, ashamed at her outburst. "EDI, I'm sorry," she said, quietly. "I didn't m… I didn't mean…" Taking a deep breath, Shepard looked up at EDI again, her eyes tired, making her seem much older than she really was. "It's terrible – okay? It's terrible," she told her, calmer this time. "I'm sick, I'm stressed, I'm… everything smells… awful. Everyone looks at me funny, and even when they're not looking at me funny it just… feels… it _feels_ like they're looking at me funny. I'm in pain, my body, all my internal organs are doing… _cartwheels_ , I'm…"

Taking another deep, pensive breath, Shepard wet her lips, letting it out in a long, heavy huff of breath. "Be glad you never have to experience it, EDI," she told her, pointedly. "Take pleasure in that fact. Or whatever you feel in place of pleasure, I guess. Feel that." Then, picking up her upper-arm guard, Shepard got to her feet, feeling herself lagging, having expended all her energy shouting at EDI. "I'm gonna go," she said. "I have things to do. When I get back… I'll tell you what it feels like." Letting out another weary sigh, she raised her brows, cynical. "Somebody might as well know," she said.

* * *

The incoming video feed on the Kodiak was grainy and shaky, with most of the colours having been washed out by the poor quality of the communication link. Still, Shepard could easily make out the soldier on the other end, a dignified-looking dark-skinned turian, strikingly similar in appearance to his father, the now-Primarch of Palaven. "Normandy shuttle, this is Lieutenant Victus with the Ninth Platoon," the young lieutenant's voice crackled over the speaker system. "Do you copy?"

"We hear you, Ninth Platoon," Shepard responded, moving in closer to the display to get a better view over Cortez's shoulder.

"We're approaching the bomb site, Commander – getting bounced around pretty bad," Victus reported, shifting anxiously in his seat on the other end.

"This is as close as we get, Lieutenant," Shepard informed him, glancing over her shoulder at her party, checking to make sure they were ready to go. "Look for somewhere to set your platoon down."

"Copy that," Victus returned.

"Talk to me about this Cerberus bomb," Shepard told him, turning her attention back to the screen again.

Victus hesitated, seeming suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. "It's not Cerberus, Commander," he finally returned, halted. "It's… turian."

Shepard frowned. "What do you mean, turian?" she asked.

"It was planted centuries ago, after the Krogan Rebellions," Victus told her, shifting in his seat as Garrus moved up beside Shepard to watch the screen as well, his interest having been piqued. "The bomb was a safeguard against another galactic war."

"Brutal, but it makes a certain kind of sense," Garrus commented, evenly. "Put the krogan down hard if they tried anything."

Shepard glanced over at him, trying to understand his and Victus' logic, before giving up and turning her attention back to the screen. "You won't earn trust with tactics like that," she told him, solemn. "But right now we focus on disarming that bomb."

"Yes, but Cerberus found it," Victus told her, looking up from inputting something on his keypad. "Detonation means all-out war between my people and the krogan."

"Right. Where is it?" Shepard asked.

"Those buildings ahead," Victus indicated, and Shepard looked up, peering through Cortez's windshield to see if she could catch a glimpse of the buildings in question. "Cerberus brought equipment to dig it up. The Ninth Platoon will cover your flight, Commander."

"With all this activity the krogan have to know something is up," Shepard commented, uneasy, turning her attention back to Victus on the screen.

"Then we can't fail, Commander," Victus told her.

"Copy that, Lieutenant," Shepard agreed.

The video feed of Victus blipped out, and the image was replaced instead by a sleek blue chart of the topography of the landscape, presented in a series of light-blue bars. The whole thing had a feel of unnecessarily simplification to it, as if it were meant to be decorative or calming rather than helpful, but feeling calm was the farthest thing from Shepard's mind at the moment. She was so distracted that she hardly registered the sound of someone coming up behind her in the shuttle until she suddenly felt a hand settle reassuringly on her waist, making her jump and twist, flinching away violently at the faintest touch. "Don't—!" she started to say, but then stopped, catching herself, sucking in her breath in a sharp inhale and holding it.

Garrus stared back at her, startled, his blue avian eyes wide, before retrieving his hand, pulling it to his chest as if afraid there were something seriously wrong with it. Liara had looked up by now, too, taken aback at the sudden commotion, a gentle frown on her features. Biting down hard on her lower lip, Shepard reached up with her second hand, using both to hold onto the overhead bar, hoping to hide the warm red blush that was creeping its way to the tips of her ears. "Don't… startle me like that," she covered, quickly. "You know I hate people sneaking up behind me. It throws me off."

"I… wasn't aware of that," Garrus answered, truthfully. His mandibles tapped gently against the sides of his chin, troubled, and Shepard could not help feeling guilty. "I won't do it again. I'm sorry."

"It's… it's okay," Shepard assured him. "I just don't… like people touching me without telling me first. That's all." She gritted her teeth, feeling trapped, hoping one of them would say something to alleviate the conversation, but neither seemed to have anything to say to that. Suddenly, she felt the shuttle skim to a near-halt, giving a shudder as it began to awkwardly lower itself down towards the dusty ground of TuChanka, and she quickly reached back, grabbing her weapon from its magnetic lock and turning towards the shuttle door, thankful for the convenient escape from the conversation. The door hissed loudly as it opened, a nearby explosion throwing dirt and rocks into the open access as the Kodiak settled to the ground, letting Shepard and the others out.

"Let's move it, people!" Shepard shouted, eagerly leading the way. "Keep your heads down – let's _go_!"

* * *

Shepard was a soldier at heart. She was unafraid to take on hard tasks, and did not shy away from the harshness of reality. But telling a father his only son had died was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do. She had been the bearer of bad news many times before, more times than she cared to count, but somehow this felt more personal than those times had. The lost, lifeless look in Primarch Victus' eyes when she had told him his son had bravely sacrificed himself to save TuChanka from nuclear war broke her heart, though she tried hard not to show it, and his solemn reassurance that his son's gesture of bravery would be something any father would be proud of only made it that much more tragic.

She knew the feeling well, of being far too respected, far too visible to show anything that could even potentially resemble weakness, of being perceived as too strong to be able to cry, even when crying was all she wanted to do. Victus had taken his leave after only a short exchange on the matter, leaving Shepard to wander the ship, trying to get the image of his heartbroken expression out of her head. It took her only a short while to find her way to the gunnery, almost subconsciously, and as the door hissed open to allow her inside she pushed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, approaching Garrus at his station and coming to stand beside him, watching around his shoulder as he worked.

"Careful," Garrus warned, jokingly, not bothering to look over at her as he continued working. "I know someone who gets _really skittish_ when you sneak up behind them unannounced like that."

Shepard smiled, sheepish, and looked down at the ground, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm sorry about that, earlier," she told him. "Just having an off day, I guess."

"Yeah," Garrus agreed, calm. "Well, everybody has them. Just means you're human."

"That expression doesn't work quite as well, coming from you," Shepard told him, looking up at him with a smirk.

"Why not?" Garrus asked, turning to look at her with a grin of his own, his mandibles moving upward. "Humans are flawed, but turians are perfect. Everybody knows that."

"Sure," Shepard laughed, shaking her head, glad for the lift in the mood. "Of course."

"I'm glad Wrex is taking this so well," Garrus commented, changing the subject as he turned his attention back to his work. "My people haven't exactly treated his with… charity, over the years."

"Wrex is a good guy," Shepard agreed. "And a good leader. He knows when to let things go for the sake of diplomacy. He's good at seeing the bigger picture."

"Some of us could learn from him on that," Garrus added. "Me, I'm more of a… small picture kind of guy. Short term. It's what I'm good at, taking things one day at a time. Working through problems as I come to them." He continued typing for a moment, before suddenly pausing, his hands coming to rest reflectively on the edge of his keypad. He stared at the scrolling text on the screen, thoughtful and quiet, before finally taking in a long, drawn-out, readying breath and turning to look at Shepard again. "This war… it isn't won in the small picture," he told her, solemn. "Sovereign didn't go down without a fight, and he was just one Reaper. I doubt a thousand more of his friends will be any different. That's not a small picture issue."

Shepard dropped her gaze, considering his words. Then, taking a deep breath, herself, she wet her lips, preparing to speak. "There was a boy, back on Earth," she told him. "Couldn't have been more than six or seven. I… watched him die as the Normandy escaped the attack." She looked up, meeting his gaze, her brow furrowed into a guilty frown. "I had to leave him," she explained. "I didn't have time to save both him and myself, and at the time, I figured… my life was worth more than his in the long run. That I would be able to save more people in this war than he would. That one casualty was nothing in the grand scheme of all the casualties this war would suffer without someone to help lead its military."

Her voice trailed off, and she faltered, before looking down at the floor again, ashamed, tucking a flyaway lock of hair behind one ear. "I'm not always convinced I should have saved myself," she admitted. "But, that's what the bigger picture turns us into. The calculated choice, the logical choice, it's not… it's not always for the best."

Garrus nodded, understanding, before letting out a soft, tired sigh and looking back at his console, distracted. "I'm still not convinced I should have left Palaven behind," he admitted. "All I really want is for this war to be over so I can get back to living my life. Settling down. Maybe have a family someday." He frowned, turning to look at her again. "Does our whole existence have to be about this war?" he asked. "Is it so bad to want those things, too?" Giving a frustrated huff of breath, he looked away again, his mandibles giving an anxious, circular twitch as he did so. "Being right about the Reapers has never felt much like a victory, has it?" he asked, quietly.

Shepard shook her head, brushing a few stray flecks of flotsam off the front of her hoodie. "We both knew this fight would be tough," she told him. "Damned if the Reapers haven't delivered."

"At least my government listened to me," Garrus returned, forcing a small half-smile, trying again to lift the mood. "Or pretended to." Turning his attention back to his work, he started typing again, scrolling back to where he had been before the conversation had started, but it did not take long for him to stop once more, too distracted to concentrate. "Shepard," he said, tentative, the faint, worried frown returning to his features as he turned to look at her again. "Are you… okay? You seem kind of… distant, lately."

Shepard faltered, taken aback. "Distant?" she asked, frowning.

"Jumpy, I guess," Garrus clarified. "On edge. Ill at ease."

"You mean today in the shuttle?" Shepard asked, shuffling a little closer to better talk to him. She had learned from experience that the walls of the Normandy apparently had ears, and this was not the sort of conversation she wanted spreading too far.

"Well, I wasn't going to say it outright, but… yeah," Garrus admitted. "It just seemed, I don't know… like you didn't really want _me_ to touch you. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but—"

"I just had a lot on my mind," Shepard told him, earnest, cutting him off before he could finish the thought. "It had nothing to do with you. Seriously."

Garrus was quiet, staring at her, his mandibles twitching as he turned this thought over in his mind, considering whether to believe her or not. Then, letting out a soft sigh, he shrugged his broad shoulders, shaking his head, tired. "Right," he said, clearly not believing her, but also clearly not wanting to exacerbate the issue. "Well, just in case you decide you actually want to talk about it… you know where to find me."

Shepard nodded, appreciative for his understanding. Garrus had always been good about that, about letting her take her time and come around to things when she was most comfortable. He was not a passive person by nature, but he knew when to take a step back when it mattered. Turning away from him, she started to move towards the door of the gunnery, but then stopped, turning around again, and stared at him, wavering. "Garrus…" she started to say, but the word caught in her throat, and she quickly closed her mouth, gritting her teeth at what she had been about to say.

Garrus turned, looking back at her over his shoulder, attentive. "Hm?" he asked.

Shepard faltered again, balling her hands into fists in the pockets of her hoodie, stretching the fabric anxiously, before finally shaking her head, decided. "…Nothing," she told him. "It was nothing. See you around, Garrus."

"Okay," Garrus answered, returning once again to his work, distracted. "See you around."


	10. WEEK SEVEN

The start of the bad news had been Joker's confirmation of the presence of Reapers on TuChanka – but, as with most things in Shepard's experience, it seemed one piece of bad news was only the tip of the iceburg. Closer inspection of the Reaper forces present on the planet's surface revealed that the Reapers had deployed something Shepard had deemed a Destroyer, a new type of Reaper which no one on board the Normandy had seen before and which none of them knew how to defend against. This Destroyer, it seemed, had been sent to the surface of TuChanka in order to block the Normandy's access to the Shroud, as well as to poison TuChanka's already-dismal atmosphere.

The outlook for the successful deployment of the genophage cure seemed to be going from bad to worse, and the chances of the mission going off without a hitch diminishing at an alarming rate.

The plan they had decided on was simple but concise: the krogan teams would hit hard and fast from the ground, while the turian fighters would deploy air support to attack from above. Between the two factions, it would hopefully buy Shepard, Mordin, and Eve enough time to sneak past the Destroyer to the Shroud and disperse the genophage cure, before coming back to rejoin the fight against the Reaper on the ground. It was a risky move, and one they were not positive would actually work, but with time running out and the entire galaxy at stake, it was a risk they knew they had to take. One less Reaper might not have seemed like much in the grand scheme, but it still counted for _something_.

Shepard splashed water on her face, steadying her nerves, before letting out a sigh and straightening to look at her reflection in the mirror. She looked tired, the dark circles under her eyes betraying her lack of sleep, and her shoulders seemed almost to slump under the weight of her recently-snug armour. Grabbing a hand towel, she wiped her face with it, pensive as she dragged the towel over her damp, freckled skin. Up until this moment, she had been so certain of what she had wanted to do, but now, now that they had actually reached TuChanka, now that she was so close to this anticipated mission she could almost taste the dust of the planet's surface in the back of her throat, she could not help the nagging feeling of _finality_ from billowing up in the back of her mind.

Tossing the towel at the side of the sink, she dropped her gaze, guilty, and leaned on the bathroom counter, propping her free hand against her hip and looking down at her getup. She was in no way a romantic, and had no ambition to marry Garrus. At least not now. Still, she could not help subconsciously going back to the conversation she had had with the turian, and to his comment about wanting to start a family. He _wanted_ a family, he had said. But not now, she reminded herself, shaking her head and taking a deep breath. Someday. When this was over. Not right now.

"Commander," Traynor's young voice suddenly came in through the speaker system, causing Shepard to look up, surprised. "You've just received an incoming message marked 'urgent'. I've patched it through to the comm room for you."

"Thanks," Shepard answered, taken aback. "Why are you telling me this and not EDI?"

Traynor hesitated, though her quiet breathing could still be heard, letting Shepard know that her finger was still lingering on the comm button. "EDI said you'd prefer if she didn't talk to you for a bit," Traynor finally answered, sounding just as mystified but trying to be professional. "I… didn't ask for details. Figured it wasn't any of my business."

Shepard felt a well of guilt pressing to the surface of her conscience, but quickly pushed it down again, wetting her lips. "Thanks, Traynor," she said. "I'll go see what the message is about."

"Of course, Commander," Traynor replied, and severed the comm connection.

* * *

The door of the comm room slid shut behind Shepard as she stepped into the reader panel in the middle of the floor, feeling the gentle hum of the scanner against her feet as it mirrored her image across the connection. A moment later, a returning blue image flickered into being in the hologram pit behind her comm console. Shepard hesitated, surprised at her digital visitor, before asking, uncertainly, "Dalatross?"

"Commander Shepard," the Dalatross returned, bowing her head in greeting. "We know you've reached TuChanka, and by now I suppose by now Mordin Solus has proposed using the Shroud."

"Are you spying on us?" Shepard asked, curtly, unable to keep a hard frown from creasing her brow.

"Hardly," the Dalatross returned, snidely. "The Shroud is the only viable course of action open to you. Commander, you can't allow your misguided sympathy for the krogan to cloud your judgement. Do you honestly believe curing the genophage will end in lasting peace?"

"We have to give the krogan that chance," Shepard answered, determined. "We can't condemn an entire race to extinction based on what _might_ happen."

"What _will_ happen is that the krogan will reproduce out of control," the Dalatross countered. "We uplifted them specifically for their violent nature, not their diplomatic skills. Another war is inevitable."

"Is that why your people moved on to the yahg?" Shepard asked, crossing her arms. "Less chance of them forming an unanticipated government syndicate? What were you planning on using them for, Dalatross – living weapons? Frontline cannon fodder? If that didn't work out for you, were you planning on sterilizing them, too?"

"Sterilization of the yahg would be a great loss for no one," the Dalatross commented, venomously. "Regardless, the yahg are none of your concern, Commander. And none of mine, either, any longer." Folding her hands together in front of her, the Dalatross shrugged her thin, veiled shoulders. "My peoples' scientific involvement with them was short-lived," she explained, dryly, as if almost bored with the topic. "Cerberus saw to that. And we have not made efforts to reengage our uplifting on the yahg after the destruction of our research tower. We consider it to be an ill-fated foray, one best forgotten."

"I'm sure the yahg don't feel the same way," Shepard commented.

"I don't care what the yahg feel," the Dalatross answered, curtly. "They are no longer my peoples' wards, therefore they are no longer my concern."

"What do you want, Dalatross?" Shepard gave a hard sigh of breath, quickly growing tired of the conversation.

"Years ago, our operatives sabotaged the Shroud facility to ensure what you are planning on doing couldn't be done," the Dalatross explained, straightforward, as if she saw nothing wrong with what she was saying. "Mordin will likely detect this malfunction and repair it. But if you ensure that he doesn't, then the Cure's viability will be altered just enough so that it fails. No one will notice the change."

Shepard faltered, taken aback. "You mean… trick the krogan?" she asked, not sure if she had heard correctly.

"They need not be any the wiser," the Dalatross confirmed. "Let Urdnot Wrex believe you fulfilled your promise."

"Mordin would never stand for that," Shepard told her, shaking her head.

"How you deal with him is up to you, Commander," the Dalatross said. "We can provide you our very best scientists to build the Crucible, and the full support of our fleets."

"If I sabotage the Cure," Shepard answered, frowning.

"Think about it, Commander," Linron told her. "The choice is yours." Then, without another word, the Dalatross' image flickered out, and she was gone.

* * *

Urdnot Wreav was dead.

It had happened so suddenly that even now, after the fight was over, Shepard was still not sure she could wrap her head around that fact. The fight on TuChanka had been as long as it had been hard, and many lives had been lost, but for some reason that one stuck with her the hardest. She had not known Wreav particularly well, and knew that Wrex had not been terribly fond of him despite their shared blood, but he had still been a leader, admired by his troops, fighting for his people. It was never easy to lose someone like that.

Running an anxious hand back through her hair, she brushed free a stray flake of Cure powder that was still clinging to it, watching as it drifted lazily to the floor, resting against the cool metal for a moment before melting into nothingness. The Reaper had stood strong, the firefight had raged on for what seemed like an eternity, the smell of burning flesh and the thick cloud of kicked-up dust had threatened to choke her, but when the genophage Cure had been released, time itself seemed to have stood still. The faces of Eve and Wrex were still fresh in her mind, the way their eyes lit up as the Cure had filtered down on them, freeing them from an uncertain future and giving them a new one to look forward to. They had looked so happy, so completely at peace, as if it were something they had never expected to experience in their lifetimes.

The door of the infirmary slid open, and Shepard instantly looked up, raising her brows, expectant. Chakwas leaned a hand against the doorframe, slick with green blood, and let out a tired exhale of breath. It had been a good three hours since she had started her duties up again, when the battered and bloody crew had returned from the surface of TuChanka, and it was clearly wearing on her, but she was a strong woman, and Shepard had never known her to back away from a challenge, no matter how dire. Looking up at Shepard, Chakwas hesitated, observing her, before finally smiling at her, gently. "Don't look so worried, Commander," she said, peeling her gloves off and folding them together. "He's doing just fine. A minor concussion and some breaks, but he's going to live."

Shepard let out a heavy, relieved sigh, finally allowing herself to relax. She had not noticed how rigid her anxious posture had been all this time, but now she could physically feel the tension leaving her shoulders and back. "Is he awake?" she asked, hopeful.

"Awake and chattering up a storm," Chakwas chuckled. "I could hardly convince him to stay in bed, even for his own good. He's a stubborn old man. I can see why you like him." Tucking her folded gloves into the pocket of her white coat, Chakwas turned, beckoning for Shepard to follow her back into the infirmary. "Come on in," she told her. "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you. It'll give him a little break from dealing with me, at least. I'm sure he'll be thankful for that."

"Just him, huh?" Shepard joked, eagerly getting up from her seat, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as she passed Chakwas into the infirmary.

"Well, and me as well," Chakwas returned with a small laugh. "I'm afraid another hour of just the two of us and we might just kill each other."

"Which would be counterproductive," Mordin chimed in from his hospital bed. "As you just spent last three hours making sure I lived."

"It was my pleasure, Doctor," Chakwas told him, nodding in response. Then, turning again, she let the door of the infirmary slide shut behind her, leaving Shepard and Mordin by themselves.

Shepard hesitated, awkwardly staring at Mordin from the far end of the infirmary, hearing the repetitive beeps and hisses of the monitoring machines Chakwas had hooked him up to. Then, pulling Chakwas' chair from behind her desk, she rolled it over to Mordin's hospital bed, dragging it up right beside him and allowing herself to sit down in it, folding her hands anxiously in her lap as she stared at him, observing him. "How are you feeling?" she asked, tentatively, unsure whether it would be appropriate to ask what she was really thinking. She felt selfish to even be thinking about it at a time like this, but, knowing Mordin, she was sure he was thinking it, too.

Mordin pondered on her question a moment, as if unsure if he really knew how he was feeling. Then, reaching up with his good hand, he gingerly touched the bloodied bandage that had been wrapped around the right side of his head, before retrieving his hand again and letting it fall back to his bedding. "Minor concussion," he answered, straightforwardly. "Falling rubble. Big chunk. Right on the head. Broke off what was left of my horn. Now just a bloody stump. Bleeding stopping quickly, however. Will soon just be a stump." Raising his patterned brow then, he grinned at her, optimistic. "Was lucky, really," he joked. "Was afraid other horn had broken. Current situation much more preferable. One horn still better than none."

"That's good," Shepard told him, unable to withhold a smile at his bizarre, somewhat morbid sense of humour.

"Broken arm, too," Mordin added, glancing over at the bandaged appendage in question. "Bad break, so I'm told. Several places. Will take some time to heal."

Shepard frowned, trying not to look too disappointed, but she could not help a sinking feeling from welling up in the pit of her stomach at this news. She felt guilty to be thinking of herself when her dear friend had just nearly escaped a brush with death, but she could not help the feeling of anxiety sitting like a rock in her chest. "So, when do you think… your arm… _will_ finish healing?" she asked, tentatively, trying not to be too obvious in her question, but it was hard when she knew that they both knew exactly what she was talking about.

"Unsure," Mordin answered, truthfully. "Salarian bones, brittle. Part of reason we do not live as long. Also, I am… older. Even with medicinal help, healing time takes longer. Immune system not what it used to be."

"So you don't think you'd be able to do my…" Shepard glanced over her shoulder, still uncomfortable talking about this sort of thing out loud, before turning her attention back to Mordin. "My procedure," she said, her voice lower. "Anytime soon?"

"Unlikely," Mordin returned, shaking his head. "Am very sorry, Shepard. Cannot risk doing procedure when hampered. Have improper medical equipment for procedure already. Trying to do risky procedure with improper equipment and only one useable hand… beyond dangerous. Rash. Foolhardy."

A silence fell over the infirmary, finalistic and uncomfortable, and Shepard sat back in her chair, fidgeting anxiously with the hem of her hoodie. Mordin looked down, worrying at his lower lip, thoughtful. Then, looking up again, he took a sharp breath, getting her attention once more. "There is… alternative," he told her, his revelation halting, as if unsure if he should even be telling her about it. "On the Citadel, there is available an… injection. Will definitely cause miscarriage, is designed to do so, but… was still in testing phase before war with Reapers began. Had to be sidelined. Was almost ready for distribution, but only problem was… is not exact science. If injected, would probably work sometime in following one to seven days, but… no way to tell exactly when it would take effect."

"One to seven days?" Shepard repeated, frowning. "That's…" Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her hoodie again, she scuffed her shoe against the floor of the infirmary, making a face as she thought, weighing her currently dwindling options. "That's… too much risk," she finally decided, shaking her head. "I can't risk… that… happening on a mission, or in the middle of a political meeting, and I can't… ask the Alliance to wait around for me for a whole week. I just can't do it."

"One week of downtime very little compared to eighteen years of responsibility," Mordin reminded her.

"I know," Shepard answered, sighing. "I know it is. Don't worry, Mordin. I'm… I've… I've got this covered." It was almost the truth, after all – she did not want to worry Mordin while he was still in such critical condition, and, if nothing else, she still had the contact information of the geneticist on Illium that Miranda had sent her. She figured it was not too much of a stretch for them to make a quick trip to Illium under the guise of picking up needed supplies, and she could get it taken care of while she was there. It was a precarious plan, but it was preferable to waiting around for a week or more for her body to let go of something it seemed obstinately resistant to letting go of up until now.

Mordin stared at her, sceptical. "Are you sure, Shepard?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically slow, testing her.

Shepard faltered, then, taking a deep breath, she nodded affirmatively. "I'm sure," she told him. "Don't you worry about it, honestly. You did a great service to the war effort by curing the genophage. You deserve to just live in peace and quiet from here on out." She smiled then, raising one brow teasingly. "I'll take you to the Citadel," she told him. "And from there you can catch a shuttle to that tropical beach planet you were talking about. Get you started running tests on those seashells like you wanted."

"Much appreciated, Shepard," Mordin returned with a smile, finally closing his tired eyes. "Will be sure to send you the results."

* * *

The war room seemed quieter than usual. This made sense, as it appeared to be almost empty apart from the Primarch and Garrus, who were standing over the war hub, consulting on something Shepard could not quite pick up. They spoke in hushed voices, likely discussing turian politics, but both looked up at her as soon as she entered the room, tucking her hands interested into the pockets of her hoodie. She looked over at Garrus, hoping to get a read on the topic of conversation from him, but his expression remained passive, dutiful to a fault. She supposed it made sense that he would be talking with the Primarch after the events of TuChanka, and so, letting it go, she turned her attention back to Victus as she came to a stop in front of him, allowing him to close the rest of the way between them.

"Commander," Victus greeted her, moving away from the console to stand over her, folding his hands respectfully in front of him. "Urdnot Wrex has begun sending troops to Palaven. You kept your end of the bargain, and now I'll keep mine." Offering her his hand, he lifted his chin, proud, before giving a short, approving nod of his head as she accepted his hand and shook it. "The turian hierarchy will stand with humanity against the Reapers," he told her, retrieving his hand again.

"I'm glad we can help each other out," Shepard replied, starting to move past him, watching as he turned to follow her around the lip of the war hub. "It's the only way we're going to defeat the Reapers."

"That much is certain," Victus agreed, moving to stand beside Garrus, who had been silently watching the conversation up to that point. "To that end, several dry-dock ships are ready to help build the Crucible. Garrus will coordinate them."

"Yes, sir," Garrus said, nodding in confirmation.

"And when it comes time to deploy it, the full measure of our fleet will be there for Earth," Victus added, turning to look at the slowly-spinning hologram of the Crucible-in-progress. Then, turning to look at Shepard again, he took a deep breath. "May the spirits watch over us all," he said. Then, turning away from the two of them, he made his quiet exit from the war room, leaving them to their own devices.

An uncomfortable silence settled on the room as soon as the Primarch had left. Shepard moved past Garrus, leaning her palms against the cool, sleek surface of the war hub, and stared at the holographic image in the middle of it, not wanting to meet his concerned gaze. Garrus did not react, wanting to allow her her space, but then, after a short moment, he finally cleared his throat, taking a tentative step towards her and taking a soft, readying breath. "I'll start managing turian support right away, Shepard," he told her. He hesitated again, not wanting to overstep his boundaries, before raising his plated brows, optimistic. "How is Mordin?" he asked, hoping to lighten the mood, if only a little.

"He's fine," Shepard answered, truthfully, still not looking at him as she spoke. "Concussion and a broken arm. Nothing serious."

"I doubt even a concussion could slow down that mind of his," Garrus joked, shrugging his armoured shoulders, relieved. "Always going a mile a minute. Just wouldn't be Mordin if he didn't."

"Yeah," Shepard agreed, distracted. Another silence fell between them, this one more dampening than the last.

"You must be exhausted," Garrus finally commented, breaking the silence once again. "That mission on TuChanka was no walk in the park. Maybe you should get some rest—"

"I'm okay," Shepard lied, cutting over him. Turning away from the console, she leaned back against the edge of the hub, pocketing her hands and looking up at him, tiredly. Garrus frowned, his mandibles giving a worried bob and twitch, before moving over to lean against the console next to her. Shepard did not flinch as his arm touched hers, letting it rest there, unintentional but still oddly reassuring.

"We both know you need a clear head to win a war," Garrus told her, looking over at her. His voice was not scolding, only informative, stating facts that both of them knew to be true. "There's no room for mistakes here. You should catch some shut-eye." He paused, and then shrugged again, nudging her arm with his elbow. "Besides, I know where you sleep," he added. "We'll wake you if anything comes up."

Shepard nodded, knowing there to be wisdom in his words. "Yeah," she agreed, softly. Then, slipping her arm around his, she pulled his arm gently towards her, resting her head against his shoulder and letting out a tired sigh. "I'm so ready for this war to be over," she told him. "I just want to go home."

"Home doesn't exist anymore," Garrus reminded her.

"Then I'll make a new home," Shepard answered, simply. "Home isn't necessarily where you're born. It's where you make it."

"Home is where the heart exists?" Garrus asked, wittily.

Shepard hesitated, before reaching up and pressing on her in-ear converter, making a face. "I don't think that translated quite right," she said, unable to keep a small smile from touching her lips. "But, yeah. More or less. Home is where the heart is."

Garrus nodded, thoughtful, considering this. Then, leaning over towards her, he lifted her chin gently with one hand, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, half-playful. "Then my home is right here," he told her, his mandibles giving a self-satisfied little tic.

Shepard turned, staring at him, her eyes wide for a long moment. Then, reaching up, she took hold of his face, bringing him down to her level and kissing him, deeply. Garrus fumbled against the edge of the war hub, accidentally pressing a few buttons and hearing them beep in retort, before encasing her in his negative space, one arm on each side, kissing her back just as deeply. Shepard grasped the back of his neck, her fingers sliding needily against the smooth scaly skin, gripping the ridge of small, dark plates that ran down the length of his spine as he pressed her up against the hub, causing it to give another loud beep of protest, his clawed hand pressing against the space between her legs, driving upward before massaging gently, pressing her up hard and letting her down easy.

Shepard exclaimed, her sounds muffled by his mouth, moaning in pleasure as he pressed the palm of his hand against her flesh. Withdrawing his hand from her legs, Garrus reached up, taking hold of the zipper of her hoodie, and started to unzip it, but he quickly found his hand slapped away, the moment ending as abruptly as it had begun. Clutching her hoodie to her chest, Shepard zipped it back up the rest of the way, pushing his arm out of the way as she turned away from him, almost cowering as she tried to repress the feeling of panic that had suddenly seized hold of her. She could hear her heart hammering in her ears, the sweat that had begun to form on her arms turning suddenly cold, and she ran a hand back through her hair, anxious, inwardly cursing her stupidity.

"I should go," she told him. Then, shaking her head, she turned and headed out the door, leaving Garrus standing alone in the war room, stunned and confused.

"Shepard, I'm sorry!" he called after her, but she was already gone.


	11. WEEK EIGHT

The elevator dinged quietly, letting them know they had reached their requested destination, before the sleek metal doors slid open to reveal the buzzing, bustling main floor of Huerta Memorial Hospital. Gripping the handles of Mordin's wheelchair, Shepard maneuvered him over the threshold of the elevator and into the hospital wing, making sure not to jostle him around too much as she went. Just before they had docked to get off on the Citadel, Chakwas had shared with Shepard that Mordin's injuries were healing so nicely that she felt that he might even be able to go without a head-bandage in as little as two weeks' time – which, if nothing else, Shepard figured this information would come as a great relief to Mordin, who had made no small secret of the fact that he was beginning to dislike the bandage greatly.

While still on board the Normandy, he had been caught from time to time trying to quietly remove it without Chakwas noticing, but, unfortunately for him, this almost always resulted in him being fussed at, and the bandage being re-secured even more firmly than before. Now at least he had a somewhat solid timeline to depend on for how long he still had to suffer through wearing it before he could finally take it off and not have to worry about it again.

"You can wear a sun hat over it until it's time to take it off," Shepard had suggested, jokingly. "You'll still look dashing that way."

"Lopsided," Mordin had corrected. "But yes, dashing. Always dashing. Bandage does not change that."

Raising a hand, Shepard flagged down a nurse who had just come around the corner from the waiting area, calling her over to the two of them. Then, crouching down next to Mordin, she took his free hand in both of hers, pressing it to her heart with a smile. "Thanks for everything, Mordin," she told him, her voice low, not wanting too many people to eavesdrop on their conversation. "I'm gonna miss you on your tropical island. Take care for me, okay? Be safe. You've done too much for the galaxy to get yourself killed now."

"Can promise to _try_ to stay out of trouble," Mordin joked back, honestly. "Can't promise I actually will. Not in my nature. Trouble too tempting." His hand returned to his lap as she released it, and he glanced down, considering his broken arm, before looking up at her again, intent. "By the way, Shepard," he told her. "Uploaded new program to your omni-tool. Will allow you to check up on status of foetus. Minimizes the need for outside medical help up until procedure is undergone."

Shepard frowned at this, taken aback, and pulled up her omni-tool to check. When the holo-screen popped up, she selected the newest function and watched as it opened up what looked like a crude set of vital readings, her expression clearing instantly. The program was inconspicuous, which she was thankful for, but she quickly powered down the omni-tool anyway, turning to look at Mordin again, who was staring at her, expectant. "Only very basic scanning tool," he cautioned her, tapping the pointed tips of his fingers distractedly against his shallow chest. "Not meant to diagnose more pressing issues, should they arise. Can read vital signs and give status of brain functions. For anything else, should be taken to professional."

Then, dropping his hand back to his lap, he shrugged. "Do not forsee you needing anything else, however," he added, reassuring. "Should do just fine for your purposes."

"Thanks, Mordin," Shepard said, quietly. By now the nurse had arrived, and Shepard got to her feet again, nodding in greeting to her. "Take good care of him for me, please?" she requested, earnestly. Then, tucking her hand into the pocket of her hoodie, she waved goodbye as Mordin was wheeled away into the inpatient wing of the hospital, through the doors and out of sight.

* * *

After dropping Mordin off and making sure he was being taken care of, Shepard had taken the opportunity of being in Huerta Memorial to visit Ashley. She had been pleasantly surprised to find that Ashley was doing much better than the last time she had come to visit her, and it did not take long for Ashley to inform her that she had been offered the position of Spectre by Councilor Udina, and had decided to accept it. Shepard congratulated her on her achievement, and had asked if she might have any inclination to return to the Normandy once she was feeling up to it. The conversation had taken on a somewhat uncomfortable air then, as Ashley had explained that the possibility of her returning to the Normandy depended entirely on Udina, which meant that the answer would likely be no.

Shepard and Udina had never particularly gotten along, especially after she had named Anderson to the council instead of him. However, he had his post of power now and he and Shepard had not butted heads in a while, so Shepard figured some of the animosity may very well have died down between them. Either way, she had pointed out, there was no harm in at least _asking_. The conversation had turned rather more personal then, as Ashley told Shepard that she had recently heard from her mother that she and her sister had made it off of Earth in time, but her sister's husband had been killed in action. Shepard nodded along, sympathetic, not really knowing what to say, before reaching out and taking Ashley's hands in hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. This seemed to be the right thing to do, as Ashley had smiled at her in return, thanking her for her support and friendship.

The elevator ride back to the docking bay was a quiet one without the thoughtful humming and on and off chatter from Mordin to distract her, the ambient hissing and whirring sound of the mechanics the only thing breaking the silence. She remembered back when the elevators had played tinny, upbeat muzak to entertain the passengers – it had seemed like an awkward addition back in the day, but now she found herself almost missing it. Then again, she figured, maybe it was not the muzak she missed, but the simplicity of the time it came from. Scuffing her boot on the floor of the elevator, she tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, preoccupied. It had only been three years ago that she had found herself suddenly placed into the position of Commander of the Normandy, running around on the Citadel with a group of ragtag misfits she barely knew.

Those three years somehow felt like a lifetime now.

A sudden noise interrupted her wandering train of thought, a gentle pinging sound, and Shepard returned to reality with a start, looking around the elevator for the source of the noise. When she heard it again, she pulled her hands from her pockets, seeing if perhaps it were something she was carrying, but when the noise sounded again, she noticed the omni-tool sensor on her hand flashing, and she clenched her hand, pulling up the omni-tool structure and screen to see what was going on. A notification was flashing on the screen, and when she selected it, it expanded into a short, pointed message: _Meet me in Holding Area_. Shepard frowned, checking the message for a return address or some other indicator of where it might have come from, before finally giving up and instead pressing the elevator button for the holding area, wondering who could possibly have wanted to meet up with her so badly that they had specifically gotten her omni-tool information and sent the cryptic message.

It seemed like a lot of trouble, even for her, and she hoped it was not just someone sending her on a wild goose chase. Her first thought was that it might have been someone looking to do her harm, but if that was the case they would have chosen a much less open and populated area. It just made no sense that they would go to all the trouble to hide their identity when she would be seeing who it was soon enough, but she figured that it did not make much difference now. She was going, and she would see who her mystery caller was soon enough.

The elevator gave a soft _ding_ as soon as it reached the holding area, and Shepard was quick to skirt her way past the doors as soon as they started opening, her curiosity threatening to get the better of her as she looked around for her contact. This proved more difficult than she hoped, as she had no idea what she was looking for, but it did not take long before she felt a gruff tap on her shoulder, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin as she turned to see who it was who had approached her.

"Hey now, not _that_ scary, am I?" Zaeed Massani joked, holding up his tattooed hands in a gesture of innocence. "I wondered if you'd show up, Shepard. Wasn't sure I'd done it quite right. Good to know I'm not quite as rusty with tech as I thought I was."

"Zaeed!" Shepard exclaimed, a broad smile stretching across her face as she gripped the chest of her hoodie distractedly, her heart rate quickly dropping back to a normal rate from the previous scare.

"In the flesh," Zaeed returned, gripping her free hand in both of his and giving it a good, firm shake. "As yourself. Sorry for pinging you like that, out of the blue and all. Figured you'd be too busy recruiting goddamn armies for this war you're in charge of to make any luxury stops by the Citadel, but when I heard you were here, I had to see for myself. Glad I wasn't just making an ass out of myself over a hunch."

"It's been a while," Shepard told him, not wanting to release the handshake but finally pulling her hand free, regardless. "Last I heard you were still working for Cerberus. What happened there? You still with them, or…?"

"Nah," Zaeed grunted, sniffing. "Undisciplined bastards, the lot of them. What I get for signing up at the last minute, I s'pose, but. Still, had to say I expected more."

"Expecting _anything_ of Cerberus is generally too much," Shepard told him, folding her arms with a dark, humourless chuckle.

"Yeah," Zaeed agreed, dropping his mismatched gaze to the floor, considering it. "S'pose that's true. Still, the pay was good, and the food was…" He faltered, pursing his chapped lips, before looking up again with a sharp, redirecting breath. "I scared a volus so bad earlier today I made him piss his suit," he amended.

"Food that bad?" Shepard joked.

"Not impressed by volus piss?" Zaeed asked.

"Not really," Shepard returned. "I've seen you scare much tougher customers before. One volus is small game as far as you're concerned. If that's all Cerberus is utilizing you for, you're working—"

"Kiddie table," Zaeed agreed. "Yeah. Didn't do it for Cerberus, though. Was trying to get some intel on forces set on attacking a turian colony without their knowledge, and the volus had information. Took him long enough to spit it out, even after he wet his drawers." He snorted, rolling his scarred, heavily-plated shoulders back. "The way I see it, those bastards owe me," he told her. "Not just for the work I did, but for everything else along the way as well. I did some of my best work for those thugs, and I haven't seen a single credit come from any of it. Last I heard, they don't seem to have any intention of paying up anytime soon, either, and I don't take I-O-U's from terrorists."

"Y'know, I could always use more help for the war effort," Shepard suggested, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and offering a helpful shrug. "Just in case you were interested."

"I'll bet," Zaeed agreed. "I've seen footage of what happened on Earth." He sniffed again, clearing his throat as he passed a gruff hand under his nose, before looking up at Shepard with an observant, furrowed brow. "Tell you what," he told her. "I'll see if some old contacts of mine are still around. Can't promise you anything, but if enough of them are still breathing… I can lend a hand that way."

"And what about you?" Shepard asked. "I was hoping I might be able to entice you to come back as well. We've got beds on the Normandy, our paychecks generally go out on time, and Gardener makes food that actually tastes like food… most of the time."

"Gardener," Zaeed repeated, before giving a sharp bark of laughter. "Yeah. Yeah, I remember that old dog from when I was on your ship the last time. Food tasted like shit back then, but I s'pose that's what you get for serving on a Cerberus vessel." Propping his hands on his hips, he wet his chapped lips, giving this proposal a moment of thought. "Wasn't half bad once you actually got him some food to cook with, though," he added. "Guess I could give the man's cooking another go. And what about beds, you said – will I be getting my old quarters back?"

"Um… no," Shepard faltered. "No, that space is currently being occupied by Khalisa Al-Jilani—"

"Al-Jilani?" Zaeed cut over her, surprised. "The reporter bitch?"

"The—the reporter, yes," Shepard answered, simply. "She's sharing bits and pieces of our progress with the general public. Raising morale. It's worked surprisingly well, actually – we've been getting in a lot more donations than I expected towards the war effort—"

"What about the rec room?" Zaeed suggested. "The one with all the couches in it. Nobody using that room, I take it?"

"Kasumi, actually," Shepard told him. "Kasumi is rooming in there. But, um—"

"Bloody hell," Zaeed swore, getting clearly agitated. "Well, whose goddamn room isn't occupied, Shepard, for chrissakes? You can't invite a man onto your ship and not give him a place to stay."

"Jack's room is empty," Shepard suggested, and as soon as the words left her mouth she regretted it. Jack's so-called 'room' had been a storage compartment in which a cot-hammock had been haphazardly draped over a few boxes and called a makeshift bed. The idea that Zaeed would agree to sleep in a room with no real bed and surrounded by supplies and spare ammunition was slim, but then again, his last room on the Normandy had been shared with a trash compactor, so she supposed it was not _too_ incredible of a stretch. Shepard bit her lip, watching him as he thought this over. "And Samara's old room," she suddenly remembered. "I don't… I don't think anybody is sleeping in there right now. And Thane's old room. Those are both empty."

"I'll take the drell's old quarters," Zaeed decided, giving a jerk of his grizzled chin. "The asari's old room was too broad for me. Grand view of space, for what it's worth, but too much empty air. No reason for it to be a one-man room. Two people would do just fine in there."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Shepard answered, smiling. "I'll get it cleaned up for you once we get back on board, and you can start moving your stuff in."

"Stuff?" Zaeed snorted. "What stuff? I've got my gun, and that's about it. Had to leave the rest behind. Can't be carrying around a goddamn sack of belongings, or else might as well grow a beard and call myself Santie Claus."

Shepard smirked at the amusing mental image, putting a friendly hand on Zaeed's shoulder, when suddenly her train of thought was pulled by the conversation by the sound of another familiar voice, this one much less welcome. From a far corner of the holding docks, the young-sounding voice of a man was preaching loudly, and now that she was not speaking over it anymore, she could finally hear what was being said. "Cerberus wants our help!" the man claimed. "And if Cerberus is good enough for Commander Shepard, it should be good enough for us!" At the sound of her name, Shepard turned, looking over at who was making such hazardous claims, and when she saw who it was, she let out a heavy, dark, but ultimately unsurprised sigh.

"Oh for the love of god," she muttered under her breath. "Conrad Verner."

"Christ, this bloody kid," Zaeed grumbled in agreement, jerking his thumb at Verner. "Sad, really. Wanted to join Cerberus but had no goddamn clue how to go about it. Just came right up to some of the boys. Asked for a pamphlet, if you'll believe it. Probably thought there was a goddamn instruction manual that goes with the job. Poor bastard."

Shepard frowned, unable to help but feel a bit sorry for the man, now that she knew this information. "So is he actually with Cerberus?" she asked. "Or…?"

"Nah," Zaeed shook his head. "Fringe element, if anything. The boys he talked to gave him some busywork to do, sent the kid on a proverbial snipe hunt. Those boys, they're mean, and they can smell a sucker a mile away. He's a bright lad, Verner, but a bit too eager for his own good. Unhealthy, if you ask me. Hero worship gone berserk."

"You can say that again," Shepard agreed, sighing. Then, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, she stepped away from Zaeed towards Verner. She offered him a pained, thin-lipped smile when she finally caught his attention, causing him to drop everything he had been doing and turn to face her, beaming from ear to ear. She almost felt guilty to still be warranting this sort of reaction from him after all the times she had told him off for irrational behaviour, or not had the time to talk with him at all, but she figured it was better that he still seemed to have some modicum of respect for her, however skewed out of proportion his idea of her might be.

"Commander Shepard!" Verner exclaimed, waving an excited hand to call her over. "It's me, Conrad Verner! Wow, it's great to see you again – I joined Cerberus, too!"

Shepard came to a stop in front of him, taking a hand from her pocket and rubbing her fingertips into her tired eye, before dragging her hand down her cheek and letting out a long, put-upon sigh. "Conrad," she told him, hearing the telltale sound of Zaeed coming up to stand behind her, clasping his hands patiently behind his back as she spoke. "Cerberus… Cerberus is a xenophobic terrorist group. They tried to _kill_ me. I'm not working with them."

"But…" The smile faded from Verner's face almost as suddenly as it appeared, and for a moment he could only look between Shepard and Zaeed, stunned. Then, wetting his lips, he pointed to Zaeed, raising his thick brows as he shifted anxiously in place. "But you're working with him!" he insisted. "And he's working for Cerberus! How can you say you're not working for Cerberus when…?"

"Ex-Cerberus, son," Zaeed corrected him. "I work by commission only. Makes it nice and easy to cut ties when things start getting a little too hot. As they've started doing with Cerberus."

"But… but…" Verner's arm dropped back to his side, and, after another moment, his shoulders seemed to slump as he suddenly realized his mistake. "Oh no," he moaned, sounding every ounce as pathetic as he looked. "I screwed up again, didn't I?"

"No, no," Shepard assured him, holding out her hands. Then, rethinking, she wet her lips, amending, "Well, I mean, yes, but… it's okay. You can do some _good_ with this. It's not the end of the world. What can you tell me about your Cerberus contacts?"

Verner frowned, running the palms of his hands anxiously down the legs of his pants as he thought back over everything he had been told, trying to think of something Shepard might find useful. "Not much," he finally confessed, almost seeming to wince at the statement. "They wanted me to help recruit people, but… I don't think they take me very seriously. I haven't been given any real missions, or… weapons, or…" He made a face, starting to wring his hands nervously. "Anything, really," he admitted. "But—this seems important, right? I mean, they _told_ me it was important… how else would I know if I'm being given an important mission?"

"You'd know," Zaeed told him, flatly.

"Oh no," Verner groaned. "But, well… hey, but, hey, listen, Commander! I might be able to help you with whatever you're doing now that _isn't_ Cerberus! Maybe I can help with that! Maybe, if you'll let me…?"

"Conrad, I'm…" Shepard sighed, dropping her frustrated gaze to the floor. Then, taking a deep breath, she looked up at him again, raising her sculpted brows, encouraging. "Didn't I hear once that you were running a shelter for war orphans on Illium?" she asked, hopeful. "Maybe you could go back to that?"

"Well, yeah, I was," Verner answered. "And it was doing really well… until the Reapers attacked. Just barely managed to get all the kids off-world. The attack didn't last much longer after that, but… the place was already demolished. It would have taken more time and funding to build it again than we had. Had to find other homes for the kids. I'm sorry if that was…"

"No," Shepard assured him. "You did the right thing. But… listen, Conrad. Right now, the best thing you can do is to make sure you're safe and prepared for what's coming. Don't… try to be a hero, just do what you have to do to survive this war." She hesitated, then, taking her other hand from her pocket, she offered both hands, palms-up, in a hopeful gesture. "Then, hey, maybe after all of this is over, you and your wife can get back together," she added. "You're a good guy, you just made some bad choices. I'm sure if you apologize for whatever you did she'd be willing to give you another chance."

At this suggestion, Verner seemed to freeze. Then, biting his lower lip, he began to twist his pinkie finger anxiously in his opposite hand, his gaze quickly diverting away from hers again, embarrassed. "Um, actually," he admitted, quietly. "I, um… I never had a wife. At all. Ever. What I did have was, well… a cat. I had a cat."

"Oh," Shepard said, returning her hands to her pockets. She had no idea how to respond to an admission like this, but somehow, she could not help but feel less than surprised. It seemed to make a lot more sense than the idea that Verner had once had a wife who tolerated his maddening hero-worship on top of the fact that he was hardly ever home and did not seem to have any sort of sturdy income.

"Yeah," Verner admitted. "My buddies—er, _buddy_ , my buddy… he and I, we used to call my cat 'the wife' because she was the only woman I ever had a steady situation with." He looked up at Shepard, offering her a painfully forced, uncomfortable half-smile. "It was a joke, y'know?" he told her. "She was the only woman who would never leave me. Then, well… she left me."

"The… cat?" Shepard asked, taken aback and feeling suddenly very guilty.

"Yeah," Verner repeated. "She ran away. I don't really know what happened to her. One day she was there, then the next… gone." He pondered this for a moment, tucking his hands thoughtfully behind him, before shrugging, giving a sad, dismissive little sniff as he did so. "I hope she's okay," he said. "She was a good cat. A little bit mean at times, but… overall not a bad companion."

"She sounds nice," Shepard commented, awkward. "I had a hamster once. And some fish. Never really had a cat."

"I think you've tended a few cats from time to time, if I'm not mistaken," Zaeed muttered humorously under his breath, barely loud enough for Shepard to hear. Shepard felt a hot flush rising to her cheeks at this comment, but quickly swallowed it down again, not wanting to catch Verner's attention with it. The innuendo seemed to go right over Verner's head, much to Shepard's relief, but still, he did not seem to be done talking to her just yet.

"Listen, Shepard…" Verner told her, starting to fidget with his hands again and seeming to have a hard time keeping his eyes on her. A light blush had begun to rise to his cheeks, and it seemed to be getting redder with every painful second, making Shepard more than a little wary of what was about to come next. "I've… I've always been really enamoured of you," he said, finally managing to make eye contact with her. "And… I kind of… well… I've kind of always wanted to ask you on a date. I never really had the courage to do it before, which was… why I kind of… lied to you about my wife, to make it seem like I had someone, but really I just… I was just… too shy to ask you back then. And then you kept getting more and more in the spotlight, becoming this great big hero, and, well… it seemed like way too much of a stretch to ask you then…"

"Conrad," Shepard said, wary, hoping to stop him, but he did not even seem to notice her comment.

"Then I thought you were dead, but it turned out you were really working for Cerberus," Verner went on, oblivious. "And I was just too surprised to even think about asking, and, well… now you're here, and I'm here, and now that we're being honest with one another…"

" _Conrad_ ," Shepard repeated, sterner this time, holding up a hand to stop him short. "I'm flattered, really, but I… I can't. Honestly. I just can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" Verner asked, clearly more than a little distressed. "Is it the money? If you're worried about money, I can support you. Money is no issue, really. I-I come from a wealthy family, and I've saved up a nice little nestegg – we could live more than comfortably off of that after the war—"

"It's not about the money," Shepard told him, holding up her hands again, patiently. "Listen, Conrad, you seem like a really nice guy, and I think you definitely have the potential to find somebody just as nice to settle down with, but… that person isn't me. Believe me, I'm not the person you think I am. I'm—"

"She's pregnant," Zaeed spoke up then, cutting over her suddenly. Shepard felt her heart sink like a rock into her stomach, her mind racing as she tried to figure out how in the world Zaeed could have known, before he finally added, quelling her panic, "It's mine. Complete accident, but we're keeping it. Didn't want to spoil the surprise, but there you have it."

"You're… pregnant?" Verner seemed stunned at the news, as if this were something he had not even considered to be a remote possibility. The idea of Shepard as a human woman, not just a lauded war hero, seemed to be taking a moment to register with him, but when it finally did, he frowned, confused, before pointing to Zaeed, incredulous. "You're pregnant… with _him_?" he asked, dubiously.

"It was a crazy night," Shepard answered, unsure what else to say.

"We're calling it Zed," Zaeed added, laying it on as thick as possible. "It's a girl."

"But Conrad – listen," Shepard said, pushing the fake-baby talk to the side. It seemed to take Verner a moment to return to reality, but when he did, he looked up at her, still somewhat dazed. "That nestegg you were talking about? The one you've got stored up?" she told him. "You should invest that in something concrete. Something that can't be liquidated for war funds, or that will decrease in value once the war is over. Credits are going to deflate exponentially once this war ends. It's what always happens. If I were you, I would invest your credits in something useful like a spacecraft, something you can definitely use once everything is settled down again."

"A… spacecraft?" Verner asked, seeming almost surprised by this revelation. "Are you sure, Commander?"

"Absolutely," Shepard told him, giving an assured nod. "People are going to be scrambling to buy spaceships after the war, especially smaller crafts. Sink your money into that so you don't lose it."

"I'll… I'll be sure to look into that, then," Verner said, nodding his head in return. "A spacecraft. I would never have even thought of that. That's why I need you, Commander Shepard. You always know just what to do."

"Right," Shepard answered, deadpan, feeling a familiar sense of guilt creeping up again. "Well, listen, Conrad, it's been great talking to you, but I should go—"

"Oh, but, hey, wait— listen, Commander," Verner stopped her again, holding out a hand, stopping just short of grabbing her arm. "I don't know if this is the sort of thing that interests you, but earlier in the day, while I was… well, you know… I overheard two people talking about a batarian terrorist named Ghorek who's wounded and being held here on the Citadel. I know you aren't much for batarians, but the name sounded familiar, and I figured you might want to know about a terrorist being held here, since… well, you don't work with terrorists, right? So maybe you'd want to take care of that."

Shepard frowned, a little disconcerted. "I don't know what you mean by 'take care of it'," she admitted. "But I'll be sure to check it out. Thanks, Conrad."

"No problem," Verner answered, grinning broadly again, glad to have done her a service. "And, well, hey, listen, Commander… if things between the two of you don't work out, or if you ever change your mind—"

"Don't hold your breath, loverboy," Zaeed told him, draping a tattooed arm heavily around Shepard's shoulders, making a show of it. Then, turning away from Verner, he steered the two of them clear of the opening, and the forlorn puppy-eyed enthusiast whose eyes Shepard could still feel following them.

Glancing over her shoulder to see if Verner were still watching them, Shepard gave a soft, relieved sigh, before looking up at the mercenary with a thankful smirk. "Thanks for that," she told him. "I would never have been able to get out of that conversation otherwise."

"Don't mention it," Zaeed answered. "You've gotten me out of tougher situations before. Just consider this payback."

Shepard chuckled, patting Zaeed's hand on her shoulder, careful not to be too touchy-feely with the mercenary. They walked in silence for another short moment, but then, unable to contain herself any longer, Shepard looked up at Zaeed again. "…Zed?" she finally asked, hardly able to hold in an incredulous laugh.

"It's a pretty name," Zaeed argued, jokingly. "Goes with everything. Like the colour black."

"Black does not go with everything," Shepard told him, shaking her head.

"Fine, fine," Zaeed returned. "Suit yourself. But when you're dressing our goddamn baby, don't come crying to me for help colour-coordinating."

"Deal," Shepard answered with a laugh.

* * *

It took a bit of asking around to figure out where Ghorek was being held, but Shepard finally found her way to the third cargo hold subsection, where she could see a good deal of first-aid work already going on. The tiny accommodations were overflowing with patients, some laid out on top of boxes, waiting for beds to open up, others propped against the sides of the tiny repurposed-crate lean-tos, groaning and clutching their bandaged appendages while sleep-deprived nurses rushed to administer aid to as many patients as they could in what little time they had. Stepping gingerly over the legs of an injured salarian, Shepard made her way to the back of the cargo hold, where a turian nurse stood guard in front of a billet crate. He was the only one who did not seem to be rushing around, which meant that he had to be protecting something, or guarding it.

Approaching the turian nurse, Shepard raised a hand in greeting. "Hey," she told him. "I'm—"

"Commander Shepard," he answered, simply. "Everyone knows you, Commander."

Shepard hesitated, a bit surprised by how quickly her reputation had spread. Then, leaning to one side, she pointed past the nurse into the accommodation, where she could see the batarian terrorist resting on a makeshift cot. "Is that Ghorek?" she asked, hopeful. "Can I talk to him?"

The turian nurse frowned, glancing back into the makeshift lean-to at his patient. Then, looking back at Shepard again, he gave a soft, anxious sigh. "Only if it's important, Commander," he told her. "He's hurt bad. I'll take down the sedative a bit, but hurry. I peg his survival at fifty-fifty."

Shepard nodded, understanding, and slipped past the nurse into the tiny accommodation, finding a place to stand somewhere between the bed and the life-support machine he was hooked up to. Between those things, there was hardly any room left for her. Shepard tucked her hands awkwardly into her pockets as the nurse followed her inside, dialling down the patient's sedative reserve, before he finally left again, leaving the two of them in some semblance of privacy. Turning her attention back to the batarian on the crude cot, Shepard bit her lip, she wondered if he were even awake to hear her, before taking a deep, readying breath.

"Are you Ghorek?" she asked, sounding a bit sterner than she had intended.

The batarian groaned, letting out a long, pained exhale of breath, not bothering to turn to face her or even open his eyes. "Go away," he finally rasped. "Nothing… to say."

"Not even what a terrorist is doing on the Citadel?" Shepard asked, pressing him.

Ghorek gurgled, the noise sounding almost like a guttural growl. "You!" he snarled, before a pang of pain seemed to hit him, and he gave a wounded cough, groaning and clutching his abdomen.

Shepard frowned, taken aback by his apparent recognition of her. "Do I… know you?" she asked, surprised.

"Every batarian with someone on Aratoht remembers your face!" Ghorek insisted, his voice rasping, his breathing now forced. "You blew up a relay that turned my planet into ash! Aratoht had people on it… families…"

Shepard's expression suddenly cleared as she realized what the batarian was talking about. "The planet that got caught in the Alpha Relay explosion…" she murmured.

"You butchered a colony!" Ghorek howled. He coughed again, this time longer, more pained, and Shepard could almost hear his lungs starting to give out. "Only regret… don't have the strength to… to…"

"I destroyed Aratoht's relay to stop the Reapers from pouring through," Shepard insisted, pushing her feelings of guilt to the side.

"Ha!" Ghorek returned, snide. "Easy for you to claim, now that they're here. Don't pretend you have any remorse."

"You think I didn't feel guilty?" Shepard insisted, incredulous. "I destroyed a colony. I've thought about the people who died, about how I couldn't warn them in time…" Biting down on her lip, she fell silent, dropping her gaze, unable to keep the feelings of guilt from overwhelming her any longer. "In the end, I didn't have a choice," she told him, quietly. "But I'm sorry… if that means anything."

"If you're so remorseful—" Ghorek started to say, but he was cut off by another wet, wheezing cough, his fleshy fingers gripping the material of his suit, needing something to hold onto. Shepard could see a thin, bubbly trickle of blue blood start to seep, thick, over the edge of his lip and down his weak chin, and she could not help but feel a tinge of sympathy for the batarian. "If you have any real guilt," Ghorek tried again, now turning to look up at her for the first time, his eyes dull, bloodshot, and lifeless. "Show some mercy. Unplug this machine. Let me join… my family."

Shepard faltered, looking up at Ghorek again, fidgeting with her hands as she weighed her options, wondering if what he was asking her to do was honestly the right thing. "You'd really rather die?" she asked, frowning gently.

Ghorek wheezed again, giving another wet, tortuous cough. "Living in torment is not living," he told her, harshly. "Sometimes ending a life is more compassionate than letting it continue. Quality of life—" Another hacking cough cut him off, a small, sticky spray of blue blood spattering the front of his outfit as he clenched his fists, giving a guttural shudder. Shepard flinched, taking a step back towards the life-support machine, her hand subconsciously reaching out towards the keypad. "Please," Gorek begged, his tortured eyes seeming almost to bore holes through her as he stared at her, pleading. "Please… let me die…"

Shepard gritted her teeth, staring at him, torn, before turning towards the life-support machine and selecting a function from the screen. Making a few deft, decisive keystrokes, she suddenly hesitated, her hand lingering over the selection key. She was still not sure she was doing the right thing, but she could still hear the sound of Ghorek's laboured breathing, miserable, arduous, and painful, and so, with a decisive stroke, she finally turned the system off. Turning back towards Ghorek, she watched as the effects began to hit him, his body slowly starting to go limp as the artificial support began to leave him, the hateful light that had once filled his eyes slowly beginning to seep away.

"Thank…" he started to say, but the words did not even have a chance to leave his mouth before the last of the fight left him, and he gently closed his eyes, slowly drifting off into what Shepard could only imagine was a finally peaceful, unwaking sleep.

* * *

" _You're doing great, Shepard. Just keep breathing."_

_Her hand clenched tightly around Garrus' palm, squeezing it until she could swear she heard the bones straining. Still, he did not seem to be in any pain, or if he was, he was hiding it remarkably well. His other hand rested behind her head, holding the base of her skull, helping her to be able to see over the curve of her stomach to what was going on at her feet. His fingers tangled in her sweaty hair, and he kept leaning forward to kiss her forehead, comforting her as best he knew how. "You're doing fantastic," he assured her, flexing the hand being held tightly in hers. "Just don't think about it and you'll be fine. Keep breathing, like we practiced – in, in, out."_

" _When did this happen?" Shepard insisted, her voice strained, before a shot of pain coursed through her body, up her spine, causing her to give a strangled yell of agony. "What's going on?!"_

" _You're having your baby," Joker answered, peering out from behind her spread legs, half his face covered with a medical mask, though for some reason he was also still wearing his Normandy cap. "What did you think was gonna happen, it'd just stay in there forever?"_

" _Joker?" Shepard panted, frowning, confused. "What…? What are you doing—?" But before she had a chance to finish her question, another spike of pain shot through her, and she gave another shout of anguish._

" _Uh, my job?" Joker answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I deliver all the babies around here."_

" _What?" Shepard breathed, wetting her dry lips. "But… what about…? What about…?"_

" _Oh, look! Hey!" Cutting her off, Joker gave a triumphant laugh, turning his attention back to the space between her legs. "He's crowning! Oh, here he comes! He's coming! He's—" But then, just as suddenly as the smile had appeared on Joker's face, it instantly dropped off again, his green eyes growing wide with terror as he backed away from the birthing table. "SHIT!" he screamed. "JESUS FUCKING SHIT! SHEPARD! SHEPARD IT'S A—"_

_But before he could reveal what he had seen, a blood-curdling howl suddenly ripped through the room, and Shepard could feel her breath catch in her chest, her heart pounding deafeningly in her ears. Blood gushed from between her legs, staining the floor, before starting to cover it, seeping around Garrus and Joker's shoes in a dark, nauseating flood. There was a snarl, loud, deafening, and then another howl, and before Shepard could react, she felt the skin between her legs beginning to strain, and then split, pulled apart as first one giant, metal claw emerged, followed by a sickening metallic skull atop a long, skinless, metal-coated vertebrate neck. The brute gave another lurch, causing the tear to widen, before dragging itself wholly out of her womb and onto the floor, covered in blood, its enormous form rising to fill half the room as it turned to stare down at its maker._

_Suddenly, Garrus and Joker were gone, and all that was left was Shepard, dressed only in a hospital gown, her body torn open from navel to knees, so completely coated in her own blood that she could not tell her own skintone anymore. She could feel the pain, she could see the blood, all the blood, but somehow, she was still alive. Moving towards her, the brute perched itself over Shepard, dripping blood as it pinned her to the table with one enormous, clawed foot. "LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE," it howled. The brute's voice was deep, guttural, more a growl than an actual voice, but somehow, Shepard could understand every word it was saying. "LOOK AT WHAT YOUR IGNORANCE HAS WROUGHT," it roared, pressing its foot down even harder on her ribcage, threatening to crush her bones beneath its weight. "NOW YOU HAVE TO PAY THE PRICE. EVERYTHING HAS A CONSEQUENCE."_

" _Why are you killing me?" Shepard pleaded, trying to pry the brute's foot off of her, but she was too weak to make a difference. "I gave you life – why do you want me to die?!"_

" _BECAUSE YOU WOULDN'T LET ME DIE," the brute howled in response, pressing down even harder, and this time Shepard heard two ribs crack. "YOU DID NOT KILL ME WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE. NOW YOU MUST SUFFER AS I SUFFER. NOW YOU MUST FEEL MY PAIN." Two more ribs cracked under the weight of the brute, and Shepard took a deep, gasping breath as she felt one puncture her lung. "DID YOU REALLY THINK I WANTED TO LIVE?" the brute demanded, the bones of its neck giving a rattling shudder as it leaned in closer towards her. "DID YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT ME AT ALL? OR DID YOU ONLY THINK ABOUT YOURSELF?"_

" _So let me kill you," Shepard answered, coughing, feeling a stream of blood begin to course down her chin. "Let me go, let me get my gun… if you want to die, I can kill you!"_

" _IT'S TOO LATE," the brute hissed. "I AM HERE NOW. YOU CAN'T GET RID OF ME. I'M NOT POWERLESS ANYMORE. I AM INFORMED. I HAVE KNOWLEDGE. I HAVE LIFE."_

" _Don't do this," Shepard begged, spitting blood out of her mouth. "Don't make me suffer like this. Just kill me if you're going to kill me."_

_The brute breathed in, its red eyes flashing, its breath rattling, wheezing, deep. Then, leaning its mask-like face in even further, it pressed its face against her nose, its glowing red eyes barely inches from hers._

"YOU FIRST."

* * *

Shepard woke in her cabin with a start, her entire body shaking, her heart pounding, sweat pouring down her back and face as she struggled to catch her heavy breath. The phantom pain was still there, a dull ache in her lungs as she staggered to her feet, rushing to the bathroom of her quarters and banging open the door before falling to her knees in front of the toilet and emptying the contents of her stomach into it. Clutching the rim of the toilet, she gripped it until her knuckles turned white, panting heavily as she dug her short nails into the silver metal of the latrine, trying to steady her nerves. Then, her breathing starting to slow, she slumped down, sitting on the floor of the bathroom, before finally leaning forward to rest her sweaty cheek against the cool, metal toilet-seat.

For a long moment, the only sound she could hear was the pounding of her blood in her ears, her heart racing, still trying to calm itself down from the panicked frenzy of her nightmare. Slowly, slowly, the panic began to desist, her breathing beginning to even out, her heart beginning to slow, until the gentle beeping of her armour display unit and the soft rustling of the hamster in the next room were the only sounds breaking the reassuring silence of her quarters. Pushing herself into an upright sitting position, Shepard ran her hands distractedly over the smooth seat of the toilet, unable to focus, unable to concentrate. Her mind was a million miles away. Sliding her hands off the toilet seat, she let them come to rest in her lap. Then, almost unconsciously, they lifted to rest against her stomach.

_You first._

Shepard swallowed, feeling her heart clench again, her mind a dull buzz of unfocused white noise as she pressed her hands against her stomach, dazed. Then, unable to hold it back anymore, she curled in on herself, pressing her forehead against her knees, her arms wrapped protectively around her torso, overcome. "I don't know what to do," she sobbed. Shaking her head, she coughed out another sob, feeling the hot, overwhelmed tears begin to stream down her cheeks, unconstrained, as she curled more tightly in on herself, gripping her thin shoulders. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry…"


	12. WEEK NINE

"We need to go to Illium."

Joker and EDI turned in their seats, looking back towards Shepard, seeming a bit confused. Most days when she wanted to give directions, the Commander would come right up to Joker's chair to do it, but today she hung back at the rear of the cockpit, her knees locked, hands tucked into the pockets of her hoodie. She tried hard to keep from making an obvious face at the hefty, heady food smell that filled the cockpit, but it was difficult when she could almost _feel_ it starting to give her a headache. Chewing distractedly at her lower lip, she jerked her chin towards the culprit of the smell, a makeshift tray that had been placed between the two piloting seats, before looking back up at Joker again.

"Is that… pizza?" she asked him, sceptical.

Joker hesitated, staring at the slice still in his hand for a long moment, unsure how to answer. "Kind-of?" he finally answered, truthfully. "I mean, it's not _really_ pizza. It just kind of resembles it. Which, y'know, I'm not complaining, since it's probably the best we're gonna get out here, but…" He trailed off, unsure of what else there was to say about it, before finally picking up the tray with what was left of the pie on it and offering it up towards her. "Want some?" he asked.

Shepard held up a startled hand as the strong smell suddenly wafted even more forcefully in her direction, taking a step back away from the pilot's chair. "I—no, that's okay," she told him. "I was just curious, was all… how you managed to get that all the way up here."

"To the cockpit?" Joker asked playfully, setting the tray down again and earning himself a put-upon look from Shepard.

"I could tell you exactly what it is, if you like," EDI offered, looking between Shepard and Joker, helpful. "I heard Jeff mention he was craving it once, so I helped Gardener to research the required substitute components to make it for him. If you would like to know what went into it—"

"I'm good, thank you," Joker stopped her, quickly. "I think I'm better off not knowing, honestly. Ignorance is bliss, and all that."

"Yes, the poet Thomas Gray once said as much," EDI agreed, satisfied.

"It's so cute when she does that," Joker grinned, turning back to Shepard.

"You're both adorable," Shepard agreed. "We still need to go to Illium."

"I trust you have a good reason for this impromptu detour," Joker commented, reaching up to drag a rectangular window down towards him on his projected screen. Once dropped into place, the window expanded, beeping as it began to fill up with excited, scrolling text. "Illium was one of the first places to be attacked by Reapers, you know."

"It was a heavy commerce and relief area," Shepard told him, moving forward despite the lingering smell that only she seemed to be bothered by. "It makes sense that they'd hit there first. They were met with heavy resistance, though, and they seem to have cleared out for the time being for regrouping purposes, so I think we should be safe enough to head over there to check it out. For now, at least."

"I still don't know if it's such a great idea to be heading over there, Commander," Joker told her, serious. "Reaper forces aside, if this gamble turns out to be a bust, that's like… _days_ , off our schedule that we're not gonna be able to get back. Plus, if even the Reapers can't find anything else worth doing there, what do you think _we'll_ find?"

"Since when were you worried about crazy gambles not paying off?" Shepard asked, frowning. "Mister happily flies through the Omega-4 Relay at the drop of a hat."

"Yeah but…" Joker started to argue, before realizing he had nothing to say and taking a bit, silencing bite of pizza instead. Swallowing his bite, he wiped his scruffy mouth on the back of his arm before turning to look at Shepard again, interested. "So what's the plan?" he asked.

"I'm going to be taking a small team down in the shuttle," Shepard told him, matter-of-factly. "Then once we're down there, we'll see if we can find any useable equipment that was abandoned when the Reapers attacked and people had to evacuate suddenly. Chances are at least _some_ of the stores will still be standing. We'll pick up as much as we can find that we can carry back in the Kodiak, then head out." She shrugged, raising her brows, persuasive. "It'll be a quick stop," she assured him. "Just run in, grab some supplies, and then rush out. Like going to the grocery store, except with heavy weaponry, armour, and medical supplies. Plus the added bonus of not having to spend Alliance funding." She hesitated, realizing something, before adding in, "In fact, the Alliance doesn't even have to know we went there at all. I think that would be better for everyone involved. Don't want to make the Alliance look any shadier than we have to, if at all possible."

Once Shepard had finished speaking, Joker squinted at her for a moment, chewing slowly on another bite of pizza as he thought it over. "So… we're looters now?" he finally asked.

Shepard gave a curt laugh. "When have we ever _not_ been looters?" she asked, frankly.

Joker shrugged, shoving the rest of the slice of would-be pizza in his mouth and licking the sauce from his thumb. "I dunno," he said, talking around the crust. "I mean, I'm sure we had integrity _once_. …I _think_."

"Way back in the day, maybe," Shepard agreed. "Before all this Reaper nonsense. Besides, if it really bothers you that much, we can reimburse the shop owners once this war blows over. Just keep a running tab of what we're taking and we'll pay them back in full when we're done."

"Hah," Joker scoffed. "Forget that. If there's one thing I hate more than stealing, it's math."

"We're not _stealing_ , Joker," Shepard reminded him, pointedly. "We're _borrowing_. And how can you hate math when your entire job is pinpoint calculations?"

"That's _fun_ math," Joker answered, pointing an indicative finger back towards her. "Shopping, on the other hand… counting credits… that's not fun math."

"I enjoy shopping," EDI put in, brightly. "The mindlessly gratifying ritualism serves as an excellent conversational catalyst, and the end result is the procuration of useable and generally aesthetically pleasing possessions that instil a residuary feeling of good will. What's not to like?"

"She's got a point," Shepard said.

"Yeah but, she doesn't even _wear_ the clothes we go shopping for," Joker argued. "She just likes trying them on."

"I enjoy gaging your reaction when I try them on, Jeff," EDI told him. "Some outfits elicit more enthusiastic responses than othe—"

"To Illium!" Joker announced, loudly, stopping the conversation dead in its tracks. "I'm ready to go to Illium. Who else is ready to go? Let's go."

"To Illium," Shepard agreed with a chuckle, patting the back of his chair.

* * *

Nos Astra was a ghost town.

What had once been a bustling epicentre of high-stakes business and stock opportunities, buzzing with people perusing pricey wares and making under-the-table – and sometimes over-the-table – deals on commodities that would be illegal anywhere else in the galaxy, was now deathly, unnaturally quiet. Some of the open-air stores still had their display screens turned on, abandoned in the middle of business when the Reapers attacked the city, and every so often Shepard would hear one giving off a low-pitched buzz, or catch one flickering eerily out of the corner of her eye. The enormous stock listing screen overlooking the view of the capital was still on full display as well, refreshing itself every ten seconds or so but always showing the same numbers, and all in red.

With no one to input stock information, everything remained frozen on the last available update, the timestamp reading a date and time just a little over two months prior, right before the Reapers had invaded. Shepard did not want to think about what had happened to all the people whose entire fortunes had been sunk into the stock market before the Reapers attacked, and so quickly passed the board by, looking around for whatever structures were still left standing.

Shepard had decided to take Kasumi and Zaeed with her on this particular mission, as they were both people she knew she could trust to find everything of value the city had to offer, as well as the ones she most trusted not to ask too many unnecessary, prying questions, and thus far, it seemed as if her judgement on both fronts had been right. Reaching what had once been Liara T'Soni's office, but which now seemed to have been taken over by someone else, judging from the vidframe on the desk showcasing a slideshow of images of a man and his asari wife posing with their three small blue children, the party stopped to discuss their plan of action. It did not take much convincing to persuade Kasumi and Zaeed that the most effective course of action would be for them to split up and loot individually, and so, with each of them having picked a particular direction to start off in, they had gone their separate ways to look for whatever useful valuables they could salvage from the abandoned storefronts.

Once Kasumi and Zaeed were far enough away from her position that she did not have to worry about them seeing what she was doing, Shepard pulled out her omni-tool, accessing the information Miranda had sent her. Within seconds a map appeared on her projected screen, showing her the way to a hidden office, and she turned, starting to follow its lead. The blinking trail on the map led her through a series of passages she would never have been able to find without it, weaving behind offices and through alleyways until finally she found herself at the end of the line. Collapsing the program on her omni-tool, she looked up, and was surprised to find herself facing what looked like a plain, locked door, one so completely unremarkable that without the help of the map she would likely have walked right past it, thinking it just another part of the wall.

Now that Shepard knew what she was looking at, it did not take long for her to become keenly aware of the fact that there were a set of cameras perched above the door, watching her intently. Looking up into the lenses, she frowned, wetting her lips, unsure of what she was supposed to do or say. Miranda had failed to fill her in on this part. "Hello?" she asked, feeling suddenly very stupid. No sooner had the word come out of her mouth when a security droid, similar to Liara's Glyph but smaller and white in colour, came whizzing around the corner of the building, coming to hover between her and the door and getting right up into her face in what she guessed was its best intimidation tactic. The droid said nothing, merely staring her down intently with its one white, glowing eye, and Shepard bit her lip, confused and a little bit startled.

"Hello," she repeated, awkwardly. "I'm here… to see the doctor…?"

The little white droid hovered menacingly in her face for another moment, beeping softly as it took what she guessed were a few quick readings, though of what, she had no idea. Then, backing off, its outer circles of light flipped over once before it turned away from her and towards the door, which opened with a hiss to let it inside. Following its lead, Shepard made her way inside the office as well, hearing the sound of the door hissing and locking shut behind her and hoping against hope that she was in the right place. The droid seemed to have lost all interest in her as it zipped through the entry room and into the shadowy adjoining one, illuminating a small patch of otherwise dimly-lit space as it went, and from what she could see from the quick flashes of light, this so-called office seemed to be some sort of repurposed apartment.

Books and papers littered the floor, the vid screen had fallen off its spot on the wall and shattered on the floor, and the bowl of what looked to be a small domestic animal lay sadly empty in a corner, with no sign of the pet that used it. Shepard guessed the family had either taken the animal with them when they fled, or the poor thing had been left to starve, or worse, be killed by attacking Reaper forces. She suddenly found herself feeling a bit silly, pitying a proverbial animal whose fate she did not even know, and so, pushing the thought from her mind, she drummed her capped fingertips anxiously against her armoured thigh, making her way into the room the droid had disappeared into, looking around at all the various screens that lined the walls as she entered, simultaneously impressed and a bit intimidated by the sheer number of them.

The doctor sat at the far end of the room, her back to Shepard, typing information into the largest of the computer screens. Despite the glow emanating from the computer screens surrounding her, Shepard could not make out the doctor's face, but could tell from the back of her head that she was an asari. Scanning the walls again, she noticed the large number of makeshift shelves stocked to the brim with mismatched medical supplies, likely the result of looting, but she knew she had no room to judge when she had come to Illium for the exact same reason. None of the lights in the apartment itself were on, making it extremely hard to see more than a few feet in front of her face, but she could just make out a thick, twist-tied coil of cords snaking out the door of the doctor's room. She figured that the computers were not running from electricity provided by the apartment either, which meant that the apartment had probably lost power during the Reaper attack.

"Who referred you to me?" the doctor suddenly asked, not bothering to look back at Shepard, continuing to type information into her console as she spoke.

Shepard faltered a moment, taken aback by the directness of the question. "Who says anyone referred me to you?" she asked, a bit more defensive than necessary.

"New patients are generally referred by old ones," the doctor told her, matter-of-factly. "I don't get a lot of people who wander in here blind. Obvious reasons."

"Right," Shepard returned, still a bit hesitant to answer her question. Leaning forward a little, she attempted to get a better look at the doctor, but could see nothing of her face past the heavy shadow. Rocking back to her original position, she instead cleared her throat, figuring she had nothing to lose by telling the doctor who had sent her. "Miranda Lawson sent me," she answered, straightforward. "She said she's gotten some specialized help from you before. She said you would be able to help me with my… problem."

"Of course, Miss Lawson," the doctor replied, nodding in recognition. "A tragedy, really. I tried so hard with her. _So_ hard. But her genetics… they're quite unforgiving, if you understand what I'm saying."

"I… I'm not sure I do," Shepard answered truthfully, frowning a bit. "Miranda… was trying to alter her genetic makeup?"

"Wouldn't you?" the doctor asked, frankly, still not turning to face her. "If you were in her position? Unable to bear children?" Letting out a sigh, the asari dismissed her hologram keyboard with a wave of her hand before turning instead to a stack of papers that sat beside her on her desk, spreading them out in front of her and starting to rearrange them. "It's tragic, really," she added, shaking her head sadly. "And I tried so hard to help her, to rewrite her coding so that her uterus wall would hold onto fertilized eggs, but it was no use. Her body was hard-wired to perfection."

"What does having a baby have to do with not being perfect?" Shepard asked, confused.

Finished with her rearranging, the asari doctor picked up her files, stacking them together neatly with a few sharp taps against the edge of her desk. Then, bending down, she opened a lower drawer in her desk, stuffing the files inside on top of several other neatly-arranged folders. Shepard bit her lip, wondering just how many people had come to this doctor for her _specific brand_ of help for fear of the impending Reaper invasion, but then, closing her desk drawer, the doctor turned away from Shepard again, once more hiding her face entirely in shadow. Bringing up her omni-tool, she selected a program, checking on what looked to be the feed from the security cameras stationed just outside the hidden clinic, before giving another, tired sigh.

"Miranda's genetic makeup was written in such a way that her body would reject any kind of foreign entity it came into contact with," she answered matter-of-factly, almost coldly so. "Because of this, anything that is not one hundred percent self-created, or anything that might in any way pose a potential threat to her, is rejected." Satisfied that no unwanted company was closing in on her establishment, the doctor collapsed the digital display screen on her omni-tool, instead leaning back in her chair, folding her hands across her stomach, and staring intently at the data streams still scrolling lazily across the computer screen in front of her. "She can eat normally because the food provides nutrition for her body, and goes through her system in about twenty-four hours," she continued. "However, her body considers a baby to be parasitic, and as such it will reject any egg that becomes fertilized in a matter of days. It seems that whoever designed her DNA was taking self-preservation to a new extreme."

"But…" Shepard frowned, confused. "But babies are protected by an amniotic sac so as to _prevent_ the body from thinking of it as a parasite. Wouldn't that mean…?"

"It's still an abnormal growth," the doctor corrected her. "Miranda's genetic formulation is such that her body specifically guards against cancer. I've never seen anything like it. Cancer is a self-forming abnormal growth of cells, which her makeup has been tweaked into identifying and destroying, but apparently the science was not exact, so now her body thinks of a baby as a cancerous growth and will automatically dispose of it in much the same way."

"That's… terrible," Shepard said, quietly, feeling a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. She felt as if an invisible hand had wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed; she had known before that Miranda was incapable of having children, thanks to information gleaned from Liara's Shadow Broker database, but she had never before now been privy to the grim details of exactly _why_. Now that she was, however, she found herself almost wishing she had never been told. Shaking her head to clear her mind, she instead took a sharp breath, returning to the conversation at hand. "That's terrible," she repeated. "But that's not why I'm here."

"Of course," the doctor answered, starting to turn around in her chair to face Shepard. "So what did Miranda refer _you_ here for?"

"I came t—" Shepard started to say, but the words quickly caught in her throat, stunned, when the doctor finished turning around and she realized who she was talking to. Her mind raced, and she found herself subliminally reaching for her gun, before stopping herself and dropping her hand back to her side, her hand clenched into a furious fist. "…Rana?" she sputtered, venomous, her brow furrowing into a hard line. "Rana Thanoptis?"

Rana faltered, seeming just as surprised at being recognized, as well as who had recognized her. "Commander Shepard?" she added, her voice startled and strangled, before finally adding, deadpan, "…Shit."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Shepard demanded, her other hand clenching into an angry fist at her side to match the first one. "I thought I told you to disappear, to find respectable work! Now I come to find out you… you're doing _black-market genetic engineering_?"

"It's not like that!" Rana countered, holding up her hands, desperately. "It-it's not what it looks like, I swear! I just wanted to help people, that's all—!"

"By what?" Shepard demanded. "Promising to help them with impossible tasks you know you could never deliver on? Stealing innocent peoples' money so you can run tests on them for your own sick entertainment? Is that your idea of _help_?"

"Now hold on just a minute, Commander," Rana argued, defensive, getting to her feet. "Nobody _ever_ said that none of my treatments worked. In fact, I've got an excellent success-to-failure ratio, and quite a high return business rate—!"

" _Return business?!_ " Shepard exploded, cutting her off. "What you're doing is unethical – it's _wrong_ , Rana! You can't trick people into thinking you're a legitimate fertility doctor when all you are is—"

"A cloning specialist?" Rana offered.

"A genetic _mercenary_!" Shepard shouted. "You're carrying on the work of murderers and monsters, and you're doing it to people who don't know any better! If Miranda knew that the person who helped create Saren and Okeer's mindless, soulless krogan clone armies was using that same bloodthirsty technology to try to alter her genetics—!"

"What I did was a _blessing_ for those krogan!" Rana shot back, taking a self-righteous step forward. "Without me, they would never have been created – they would never have been born! What I did was a miracle. I ignored the genophage, Shepard! I saw the krogans' problem, and I spat in its face!"

"By doing what?" Shepard insisted. "By helping the female krogan to regain their fertility? By actually doing something to _help_ with the genophage and those affected by it? Or by making more male krogan? More mouths to feed? More mindless, subpar soldiers that would eventually try to fight for their place among the already existing krogan, and mate with what precious few fertile females they actually have, resulting in more war and bloodshed?"

At this revelation, Rana's expression suddenly softened, seeming almost confused, as if she had never before honestly considered the consequences of her work. She clutched the front of her dress, her fingers worming guiltily into the material as she stared at Shepard, lost for words, but Shepard was not quite through with her yet. "Do you know what krogan like those will do, if they can't have a fertile female?" Shepard insisted. "They'll _kill_ the fertile females so that no other krogan can have them. They would rather see the future of their race _die_ than accept defeat, even on such a meaningless level." Taking a step forward, she jabbed an accusatory finger in Rana's direction, and was satisfied to see Rana take a daunted step back towards her desk in response.

"So don't you act all self-righteous with me, Rana Thanoptis," Shepard told her. "What you're doing isn't clever, and it isn't a blessing – it's a _fucking sacrilege_ , and if I hadn't stopped you both those times I caught you at it, you may very well have led to the extinction of the krogan as a race."

For a moment following this outburst, Rana was quiet, staring at Shepard, horrified. Then, letting out a deep, shuddering breath, she shook her head, swallowing back hard. "I… I had no idea," she admitted, her voice barely above a humbled whisper. Dropping her gaze, she let go of the front of her dress, starting to wring her hands instead, unable to make eye contact. "I swear I was only trying to help," she said. "I swear I was. Miss Lawson… she wanted so badly to have children, and I…" Her voice trailed off, filling the room once more with uncomfortable, fatalistic silence, but after a moment, her expression slowly began to change from one of guilt to one of confusion. Looking up at the Shepard again, Rana frowned, seeming to have suddenly realized something.

"But… why are _you_ here, Commander?" she asked.

Shepard stared at her for a long moment, pursing her lips into a hard line, clenching her fists so tightly at her sides she could feel her knuckles turning white. Then, without even deigning to offer an answer, she turned away from Rana, heading for the door of the office. "Commander…?" Rana called after her, concerned, but the door of the apartment had already closed behind her, and she was gone.

* * *

A quick check with Zaeed and Kasumi over the earcomm let Shepard know that they were still hard at work, though from their reports it appeared that most of the stores on Nos Astra had already been foraged before they even had a chance to get there. Not surprising, considering the inevitability of marauding stragglers, but from the sheer number of still-armed bodies both teammates were reporting finding draped over displays or curled up under desks it was starting to appear more likely that most of the weapons had been taken up by regular citizens in an effort to defend themselves and their home against the Reapers. It was a sad thought, and one Shepard quickly pushed from her mind before commending them both on the work they were doing and telling them to keep in touch if anything major happened. Then, severing the comm connection, Shepard set to work racking her brain for her next possible course of action.

Mordin had been her most promising hope for a reliable termination, but with him unavailable, Miranda's mystery doctor had been the only backup plan she had. Now with that possibility also having been pulled unexpectedly out from under her, she figured it was either time to give in and ask a professional for help, or try something rash and potentially dangerous in order to take care of the problem herself. At this thought, she suddenly remembered a conversation she had had with Grunt on TuChanka a year or so ago, when she had visited the planet to put him through his Rite of Passage. The merchant, Ratch, had mentioned drinking ryncol, and Grunt had later informed her that uncut ryncol would hit the insides of anyone not krogan, in his own words, "like ground glass".

While the idea of consuming something comparable to swallowing a broken light bulb did not honestly appeal to her, she figured it was a better option than involving Karin Chakwas and getting the Alliance on her case about her unexpected mishap. Besides, Shepard had never been one to back away from a challenge, however misguided, and she had sampled cocktail-variation ryncol once before. The worst that variation had done was knock her on her ass for a little while, so if a little bit of internal discomfort was what it took to rid her of her steadily worsening situation, she was prepared to face it head-on. Pulling up her holo-map, she made her way back to the main floor of the marketplace, and from there, she followed her memory up the stairs until she reached the familiar, double-doored façade of the Eternity Bar.

For one reason or another, Eternity appeared to be one of the few places that still had working electrical power on Nos Astra. Its overhead entryway sign flickered uncertainly, but the on-and-off glow was still enough to attract even the most wary of wanderers in the otherwise-dusky market city. The music inside the bar had been set to something quiet and mindless, which seemed to fit the mood the place had taken on since the last time Shepard had been to Illium. Unlike the busy, upbeat nightlife crowd that had filled the place less than a year prior, the only customer this time was a solitary quarian tooling around clumsily with a datapad at the far end of the bar. His nearly-full glass still sat in front of him, complete with straw, hardly seeming to have been touched since it was ordered.

The bartender, a turian with no apparent markings, did not seem to mind that his only customer did not seem to be touching his drink. If anything, he seemed grateful for the company. As Shepard approached, he appeared to be trying to engage the quarian in conversation, but the quarian was to be far too wrapped up in whatever he was doing to pay the bartender much mind at all. The turian quickly looked up from his silent companion when Shepard took a seat at the bar, and gravitated quickly towards her instead, picking up a glass that was sitting upside-down on the bar and starting to distractedly clean it as soon as he reached her. "What can I get for you?" he asked, eagerly. "You're only my third customer all day. That guy was my first."

"Who was your second?" Shepard asked, curiously.

"Some batarian," the bartender shrugged, glancing over his shoulder. "They don't like giving names in here. This war has turned everybody suspicious." Turning back to face her again, the turian suddenly paused, his mandibles moving in faint, hesitant circles as he stared at her. Then, unexpectedly, a smile of recognition lit up his face. "Hey, I remember you," he told her, setting down his cleaning-rag on the counter. "You came into the Dark Star on the Citadel a year or so ago, back when I used to work there."

Shepard faltered, taken aback by his recognition. "Do you remember everybody who comes into your bar?" she asked, more than a little impressed by his apparently photographic recall.

"Nah," the bartender answered, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Just the ones who ask for ryncol on _top_ of batarian ale. Those are the ones worth remembering."

"Oh!" Shepard exclaimed, suddenly remembering exactly what he was talking about. "Oh, that was you? Of course I remember you! You're the only bartender I've ever met dumb enough to listen to me when I told you to keep amping up the game with the drinks."

"And you were the only patron dumb enough to challenge me to amp it up," the turian replied with a chuckle. Then, setting down the glass on the counter as well, he held out his hand for her to take. "Xerxes Valarran," he told her, taking the hand she offered in return and giving it a warm, firm shake. "Not to be confused with Vakarian. There used to be this hotshot turian who worked C-Sec with the surname Vakarian, and his son Garrus ended up working C-Sec as well. I couldn't tell you how many times people would get us mixed up."

"I know Garrus Vakarian," Shepard told him, grinning, amused. "I promise I won't get you two mixed up."

"Yeah?" Xerxes asked. "He's a good kid. A decent officer, if a little on the trigger-happy side. I was sorry to see him leave C-Sec, even though him working there meant people would always keep coming up and asking me if we were cousins or something because our surnames were so similar. I'd keep telling them no, but I'd still keep getting asked." Picking up his glass and rag again, Xerxes gave a beleaguered sigh, before looking up at Shepard again with an exasperated chuckle, his light-yellow eyes amicable despite his obvious frustration. "Your species… they aren't all extremely bright, huh?" he asked.

"Unfortunately… no," Shepard answered, shaking her head honestly. "But don't worry, I know better than to ask questions like that. Believe me, I've been asked _way_ too many times myself if I'm related to some other human who looks nothing like me because we both happen to have red hair."

"Yeah, well, you gotta forgive a little alien curiosity," Xerxes told her, chuckling again, this time genuine. "We have no idea how human hair works. If you'll notice, we haven't got any to speak of."

"I'm… trying to imagine a turian with hair," Shepard admitted.

"It's not pretty, is it?" Xerxes asked.

"Not especially, no," Shepard laughed. "Thank goodness for little evolutionary blessings."

"Yeah, I guess so," Xerxes agreed.

"So what happened to your old job?" Shepard asked, looking up at the turian bartender again, eager to change the subject. "How'd you wind up on Ilium of all places?"

"It's a long story," Xerxes answered honestly, giving a short sigh. "And not a particularly interesting one. Nothing tragic, but after the Reapers invaded, the Citadel got _crazy_ crowded, and it seemed like everybody was going to the bar. The place was overflowing every day, with lines out the door, but nobody felt like waiting." He paused, continuing to thoughtfully clean his glass, before giving a noncommittal, half-hearted shrug of one broad shoulder. "I guess it makes sense," he said. "In a twisted sort of way… when you think you're gonna die tomorrow, you don't really want to spend today standing in line. Still, collateral damage was piling up faster than the bar could make bank, so they built a bigger lounge to try to accommodate everybody. Even so, every day I felt like I was playing crowd control instead of bartending. There were just so many people who didn't want to think about the war."

"Can't really blame them," Shepard admitted. "But still, that's…"

"Pretty messed up, right?" Xerxes said, nodding in agreement. "Yeah. You'd think, with everything going on, they'd be more focused on getting their families to safety and everything, or helping out with the war effort, but no… I guess people figured if they were going to die tomorrow, they wanted to have a good time today." He paused again, trailing off, before finally frowning, his light-yellow eyes narrowing pensively. "And you could see it in their eyes, too," he added. "Just that look of… of _emptiness_. Like they considered themselves to be already dead. The place had turned into a goddamned crypt, and I couldn't take it. I just couldn't take it anymore. So I got out." At this, his expression suddenly cleared, and he lifted his head, seeming to be glad to depart from the memory of jobs past.

"Anyway, I heard a rumour the bartender from Ilium transferred to Apollo's on the Citadel and the spot here was open," he finished. "So I booked transport to Ilium and applied, and now here I am."

"That's…" Shepard started to say, before realizing she did not really know what there was to say about it, if anything. "That's… a story."

"So what can I get for you?" Xerxes asked, changing the subject, himself, this time. "A repeat of last time? Uncut batarian ale? Or were you just looking for a quick pick-me-up on your way through?" Bending down, he started to reach for a cylindrical bottle under the counter, but Shepard quickly raised a hand, stopping him.

"Not today," she said, shaking her head before letting her hand drop back to the bar counter. "Today I'm just looking for one thing."

"Oh," said Xerxes, straightening up again. Then, glancing anxiously over towards the quarian still sitting at the far end of the bar, he leaned in towards Shepard, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Are you looking for sand?" he asked. "I hear the sand trade is particularly big on Omega, so you'd probably have to go there if you don't want something cut beyond recognition—"

"Xerxes, I'm not—" Shepard held up her hand again, cutting him off short. "I'm not looking for red sand. Thank you, though. If I ever am in the market for red sand, now at least I'll know where to look."

"Oh," Xerxes said, leaning back again, seeming a little embarrassed. "Well, if you're looking for _somebody_ , I'm not the person to ask about that kind of thing. Like I told you last time we talked – I don't know stuff. I just serve drinks."

"That's fine," Shepard told him, nodding in agreement. "I'm actually looking for a drink, so that works out perfectly."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Xerxes asked with a grin, showing off a line of sharp, pearly teeth. Setting the glass he held down, he slid it over towards her, but Shepard quickly slid it back again, watching as the smile faded from his face as he looked between the glass and the Commander, confused.

"I'm looking for a drink to go," Shepard said. "Do you sell your liquor by the bottle?"

"That depends on what you're looking to buy," Xerxes answered, truthfully. "Just some regular party drinks, or something a little more—"

"I'm looking to buy ryncol," Shepard told him, direct. " _Pure_ ryncol. Uncut."

Xerxes faltered, fidgeting with the dish-towel he still held clenched in one hand. "Listen, Commander," he told her. "I know you've had a taste of ryncol before, but that was cocktail variety. Plus I cut it with other stuff then, watered it down with other liquor a human body could actually handle. If you try to drink ryncol straight, that stuff will tear your insides right up. I've had people tell me they pissed blood for days after drinking it straight, and somebody said it _killed_ a buddy of his—"

"I'll take two bottles," Shepard told him.

Xerxes paused again, surprised and wary. Then, sighing, he dropped the dish-towel down onto the bar counter in defeat. "Okay, Commander," he told her. Ducking under the counter, he resurfaced with two blue, glowing, lava-lamp-shaped glass bottles, sliding them across the bar towards her. "On the house. For your service. But I'm telling you… there are much better ways to kill yourself."

"I'm sure there are," Shepard joked, sliding the bottles into the ammunition satchel at her belt and clasping it shut. "But I'll be sure to mention you in my will either way."

"Much appreciated, Commander," Xerxes told her, giving a nervous chuckle.

* * *

Joking about her impending death had seemed so funny at the time, but now, as Shepard found herself sitting haphazardly on the tile floor of her quarters' bathroom after puking up what felt like everything she had ever eaten into the toilet, it seemed like more of a distinct possibility than a joke. When her vomiting had finally stopped and her gagging seemed to bring up nothing but dry, hot air, she groaned, resting her elbows against the toilet-seat, crossing her arms across the bowl and resting her forehead on her wrists, breathing heavily. "Shit," she exhaled, her throat raw, but before she could manage to regain her composure, she gagged again, leaning forward towards the toilet as another wave of nausea washed over her, emptying what she prayed was the last of her stomach contents into the water-closet, and this time, despite her blurry vision, she could definitely make out blood.

Sitting back, Shepard spat into the toilet-bowl, her spittle tainted red with blood. She did not bother trying to wipe away the slick, glimmering sick that coated her chin, instead simply allowing herself to breathe. She panted, trying desperately to catch her breath, feeling cold sweat pooling and running down her brow, dripping from the edge of her nose and chin onto her freckled chest. Her thin white undershirt clung firmly to her body as well, plastered rigid to her skin with sweat, which seemed to be pouring off of her in waves. With a grunt, she pushed herself away from the toilet-seat, slumping back against the line of the bathroom sink and tucking her knees loosely towards her, resting her elbows against them. Then, running a hand back through her wet hair, she let out another long breath, her gaze glassy as she stared at a spot on the sleek tile floor, focusless and sick.

"This was a bad idea," she muttered. "This was a…" She stopped, gagging, before giving a wet cough and feeling another wash of blood start to slick down her already-wet chin. "Fuck," she breathed, leaning her head back against the sink and closing her eyes. Just then, a familiar, high-pitched buzzing noise filled the empty bathroom, and Shepard opened her eyes again, looking up, as if expecting to see someone there.

"You do not appear well, Shepard," EDI's calming voice seeped in through the speakers. "Would you like for me to ask Doctor Chakwas to come up to attend to you?"

Shepard sniffed, leaning her head back against the sink piping again, taking a deep, slow breath and closing her eyes. "No," she said, absentmindedly wiping the side of her mouth with the back of her wrist. "No, I don't… want Karin up here. I don't…" Swallowing back the sickening lump threatening to rise in her throat, she fell silent for a moment, running the tip of her tongue distractedly along the line of her chapped lips. Then, feeling a nauseating feeling coming up again, she reached out towards the toilet-bowl, snatching for it as she tried to weakly push herself back up again. Grasping hold of the edge of the seat, she pulled herself forward onto her knees, arching her back over the bowl and lurching, but this time, nothing came up. Laying her forehead against the cool side of the toilet-seat, she allowed herself a moment to just breathe, closing her eyes exhaustedly. "Don't get Karin," she breathed, her eyelids fluttering. "Don't…"

"Shall I request for someone else to come up and assist you, then?" EDI asked, her voice blessedly calm.

Shepard spat, wetting her chapped lips, before slumping back away from the toilet again, sitting back, exhausted. Resting her elbow against the edge of the seat, she let her head drop into her hand, closing her eyes and trying to catch her breath again as another bead of sweat trickled down her jaw, clinging to her chin before dripping off onto her shirt. "Liara," she finally breathed, decidedly. She reached up, trying to comb her wet bangs out of her eyes, only to have them fall right back again, clinging to her pale, sweaty face. "Get… Liara."

"I will alert Doctor T'Soni immediately," EDI reported. Then, the soft, high-pitched buzzing stopped, signalling the AI's departure, and Shepard was alone in her cabin again.

Her eyes fluttered uncertainly as she tried to breathe, concentrating on forcing oxygen into her lungs, but every breath felt like a lead weight was sitting on her chest. Thankfully, it did not take long before the sound of her cabin door sliding open reached her ears, and she heard the small, delicate footsteps of her asari teammate entering her quarters. The door of the bathroom slid open, and when it did, Shepard looked up, frowning as she tried to separate Liara's outline from the rest of her shoddy vision. She barely had a chance to do so, however, before Liara had already pulled off her jacket, not wanting to ruin it, and had knelt down beside her on the floor of the bathroom, placing a gentle hand on her back and rubbing the space between her shoulder-blades, hoping to sooth the queasy sensation and calm her ravelled nerves.

"Shepard, are you all right?" she asked, her gentle voice strained with concern. It was a question they both knew the answer to, but there was really nothing else to be said.

Shepard spat again, not even bothering to wipe away the mixed bile and blood that still stained her mouth, and closed her eyes, letting out a short, weak moan. "Liara," she sobbed, her voice cracking as her wracked form gave a thin shiver against Liara's caring hand. "Liara, I… I'm…"

"Shh," Liara shushed gently, shaking her head. "It's okay, Shepard. Don't try to speak. You're going to be just fine, I promise." Retrieving a hair-tie from the edge of the sink, she quickly swept all of Shepard's hair up into a messy but effective ponytail. Then, pulling a fold of tissue paper from the nearby roll, she began to gently clean around Shepard's mouth, saying nothing as the paper quickly became saturated with bright red blood. Finished tidying up, Liara slid a soothing arm around the Commander's shoulders, allowing her to lean back into her, offering quiet, cooing assurances as she did so. "You're going to be just fine," she repeated. "See? We can get through this. Everything's going to be just fine, you'll see."

"Liara," Shepard sniffed, shaking her head. "Liara, I… I've made a terrible… mistake."

"We all make mistakes, Shepard," Liara assured her. "It's nothing to get upset about. It's just a part of life. Whatever it is, I'm sure we can work it out and it will be just fi—"

"I'm _pregnant_ ," Shepard sobbed, the words spilling out of her mouth before she could even stop them. "Liara, I'm pregnant, and I… I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix it."

Liara paused, frowning faintly, thinking this new fact over, processing it. Then, wetting her indigo lips, she cleared her throat, gently, trying not to seem too taken aback. "Have you told Vega?" she finally asked, still trying to be helpful but not sure how.

At this, Shepard sniffed, frowning, confused. "Vega?" she asked. "Why… why would I tell _Vega_? It's not his… baby. I'm…"

"Joker?" Liara guessed again, her thin, painted eyebrows raising faintly.

Shepard could only stare.

"Cortez?" Liara ventured, out of options, her voice wavering with self-doubt.

"Cortez is just a friend," Shepard shook her head. "And he's gay. Liara, it's… it's Garrus'. It's Garrus' baby."

Liara hesitated, trying not to look too startled by this news, but it was apparent she was wracking her brain for an explanation. "Are you sure?" she asked, trying not to sound too sceptical but failing miserably.

"Yeah, I'm…" Shepard blew out a long, tired breath, her eyes half-closing, before looking up at Liara again, pointedly. "How many people do you think I'm sleeping with, Liara?" she asked.

Liara made a face. "Currently?" she asked.

"I'm…" Shepard bit her lip, frowning faintly, before coughing again and returning to the previous conversation. "It's Garrus'," she repeated, firmly. "And n… no, I haven't told him I'm… I… haven't told him. I just…" Taking a deep breath, she held up her hands, exasperated, before letting them fall back into her lap again, defeated. "I want to be _rid_ of this baby, Liara," she told her. "I don't want… I just want it… gone. I want it… out— _out_ of me."

"You want to get rid of the baby?" Liara asked, seeming surprised by her choice. "But… why?"

"Because I don't _want_ it," Shepard insisted, harsh. "I don't _want_ to have this baby. At least… least… not now. I don't want to have it… now. I can't—I _can't_ have this baby, Liara. I just…" Bringing a hand to her head, she ran it back through her bangs, letting out a heavy, exasperated sigh. "There's so many… and the… and… I _can't_ ," she said. "I just… can't. I can't do it, Liara. I can't do it. Not now."

Sucking in her lips in thought, Liara nodded, thoughtful. Then, brushing a flyaway strand of red hair from Shepard's forehead, she asked, "Don't you think you should tell Garrus first? Not ask him for permission, of course, but… at least let him know? It seems like the right thing to do if you love someone."

Shepard shook her head again, insistent. "No," she sniffed. "That would be… cruel. And I don't… I don't… _love_ , Garrus. We… we enjoy each other's company, sometimes… intimately, but… We-we're very close, but… it's not… I don't know that I'd call it…" Swallowing again, she cleared her throat, letting out a soft, anxious sigh. "It's not love," she said, firm.

"I understand," Liara said, nodding in agreement. "But… what about the baby? Don't you love your baby?"

At this, Shepard paused, making a face, before turning to look up at Liara, her expression oddly unreadable. "No," she answered, deadpan.

"You're lying," Liara told her, quiet but stern. There was a hint of sympathy in her voice, though whether it was pity for Shepard or for her child it was difficult to tell. Shepard frowned, needled, and pushed herself up into a sitting position, shaking her head again, more vehemently this time.

"I honestly don't," she told her, determined. "Right now, I don't really feel… _anything_ towards it. At all. …Panic, maybe. Frustration. Fear. But not love. …Not right now."

Liara sighed gently, but seemed to have nothing else to say on the matter. Shepard knew the way Liara worked – she respected Shepard and trusted her implicitly, even when she was not entirely convinced that what she was doing was the right thing. Still, of everyone aboard the ship, she felt that Liara would be most likely to support her in her decision and to keep her secret. Getting to her feet, Liara reached down, taking Shepard's upper arm in one hand and pulling her by the hand with the other, bringing her unsteadily to her feet as well.

Shepard fumbled, trying to find her footing on the slick bathroom floor. Then, looking down, she wet her lips, trying to see what was happening between her legs, before looking up at Liara again and pointing down towards it. "Am I bleeding?" she asked. "Down there. I feel something. Can you check? Am I bleeding?"

Liara looked down to check, but then, making a face, she looked up at Shepard again, shaking her head. "It's not blood," she told her, frankly.

"Not blood?" Shepard asked, sounding disappointed. "Then what the hell is it?"

"Listen," Liara told her, holding up her hands and tactfully avoiding the question. "Why don't you… go take a shower, and I'll get you something clean and dry to wear. Hopefully you'll be feeling better in the morning."

"I'm not bleeding, Liara," Shepard told her, now sounding distressed.

"I—no, you're not," Liara agreed. "Let's… get you into the shower. Come on."

* * *

Clean and tousle-dried after her shower, Shepard lay in bed, staring at the dizzying glass ceiling of her cabin, her eyes wide but blank, looking but not really seeing anything. While in the shower, she had watched a faint, fleeting trickle of blood swirl and vanish down the drain with the rest of the shower-water, though at the time it had been hard to tell whether it had been left over from her vomiting episode earlier or if it had come from somewhere else more recently. Either way, it had not taken much coaxing from Liara to get her cleaned, and then into a fresh pair of pyjamas. She felt numb, dazed, and stupid, her insides threatening to tie themselves into knots, but she was too tired to even react to the pain, or to the sound of Liara emptying what was left of her ryncol down the drain of her bathroom sink.

"I don't know why you do this to yourself," Liara sighed, setting the now-empty bottle down on Shepard's desk before making her way towards the bed again. "What are you trying to do, kill your baby?"

Shepard stared at her, deadpan.

"Don't answer that," Liara conceded, shaking her head. "I don't want to know."

"Stay with me," Shepard pleaded, stretching out a hand towards Liara. "…Please. Please don't go."

"I'm not really dressed for bed," Liara told her, looking down at her attire.

"I've got pyjamas," Shepard told her, retrieving her hand again. "You never minded getting in my pants before."

"That was in poor taste," Liara scolded her, but Shepard could just make out the curve of a smile on her face as she turned away to find a pair of night-clothes to change into. Moments later, Liara was crawling into bed beside her, sliding under the covers as she moved in close to Shepard, wrapping a protective arm around the Commander's thin form and pulling her in towards her. Shepard nestled back against Liara's warmth, letting out a soft, tired breath, before taking Liara's hand in hers and holding it, the pad of her thumb passing thoughtfully over the asari's pale-blue knuckles as she stared at a spot on the wall, letting the silence persist for a long, still moment.

"I'm scared," Shepard suddenly admitted, her voice quiet, barely loud enough for Liara to hear. "I'm scared of turning into my mother. Or, I guess, I'm scared of _not_ turning into my mother. My mother… she had me, and she loved me, and she raised me on her own, and she kept going, but she never really… she never really went any further in life after that." She frowned, shifting against Liara's warm form, thoughtful. "She only recently got promoted to Rear Admiral," she added. "She's twice my age, still serving, and only ever made it to Captain until _just now_."

"It's not easy to be promoted, Shepard," Liara reminded her, gently.

"I know that," Shepard agreed, nodding. "And I respect my mother – more than anyone else, probably. But…" She hesitated, biting her lip, before sighing again, tiredly. "I'm terrified of failure," she admitted, quietly. "I've always been terrified of failure. It's… what drives me, I guess. The need to do what's right. Be a hero. Make the hard choices. Look out for the greater good." She shrugged, shifting her foot back between Liara's ankles, which crossed protectively around it. "It's what I'm good at," she told her. "I _know_ what the people, the… proverbial 'People', as a whole… what they need. I know how to fight a war. But I don't… I don't know how to be a mother. It's different. It's scary."

"Please don't do anything rash," Liara pleaded. "If you want me to, I can look and see if I can find a doctor who'd be willing to help. Someone discreet. I have connections, you know. It's… kind-of what I do."

"I don't want to go to a stranger," Shepard answered, frowning, shaking her head. "I want someone I can trust. Someone who won't make a big deal out of the fact that I'm… that it's…"

"I understand," Liara assured her, pulling her in closer so their bodies moulded more comfortably together.

"I thought you would," Shepard told her. "It's why I trust you. That, and you're just so gosh-darn cute."

"Go to sleep, Shepard," Liara told her, chuckling as she nestled her face into Shepard's soft, towel-dried hair. "You'll feel better in the morning."

"Yeah," Shepard answered, softly, the smile fading from her face. "I doubt it."


	13. WEEK TEN

The program Mordin had uploaded into her omni-tool blipped softly each time the vital reader reached a peak, before dropping back down to a baseline and then climbing back to peak again with another, soft blip. The brain function and heart rate readers all showed fairly normal vitals – startlingly normal, after all the stress the foetus had undergone in the last few weeks. In fact, despite Mordin's well-meaning warnings about how the growing thing inside her was tremendously fragile and would likely come undone at the slightest provocation, it was proving frustratingly hard to get rid of it. Selecting the heartbeat vital, Shepard stared at it, blankly, her hand resting half-heartedly on her stomach as she watched the line spike and drop in a steady, rhythmic meter.

Sheer spite had split her feelings on the matter of her child into a stark fifty-fifty – on the one hand, she was tempted to keep the baby just to say she did. Just to spit in the faces of those who would see her fail for being both an officer and a mother. Just to see the Council squirm at the sight of Commander Shepard with a baby on her hip. On the other hand, Ghorek's words and her horrific dream still gnawed angrily at the back of her mind – what sort of quality of life would her child have, if she were to go ahead and have it? What if she carried it fully to term, just to have it be unable to survive outside the womb? Or, even more frightening, what if it _did_ survive? What sort of life would it have then, being the only one of its kind, incapable of finding acceptance or appreciation anywhere but its parents?

"Parent," she reminded herself quietly, collapsing the omni-tool screen. "Just one parent." She still had yet to tell Garrus about the whole thing, but honestly, that was the only part about this entire ordeal that felt like she was doing something right. He did not need that extra stress on top of what he was already taking on. His planet in ruins, his father and sister in the wind – the last thing he needed was one more thing to worry about, especially something so uncertain. She would never hear the end of it. _Two months? You went two whole months without telling me?_ Two and a half, she guessed, but that was an unnecessary detail. It was all unnecessary details, as far as Garrus was concerned. This decision was hers to make, and hers alone, and those who did know about it had sworn themselves to silence.

Hearing the telling beep of an incoming e-mail, Shepard pushed herself up off the bed, making her way over to her console and waving a hand to turn the holo-screen on. The e-mail was from the salarian Council member, which surprised her, but she was even more surprised by the e-mail's content. The Councillor, it seemed, was becoming highly concerned about large sums of money he had witnessed moving through the bank accounts of human Council member Donnel Udina, and had requested that Shepard come to the Citadel to investigate. An odd task, but one that piqued her curiosity – Udina had always been a bit of a snake in the grass, as was his lot in life as a politician, but she had never suspected him of actually doing anything _illegal_.

Pressing the intercom button beside her console, she waited for the telltale sound of Joker's voice to pick up on the line. "Joker," she told him. "We're heading to the Citadel. The salarian Councillor needs our help."

"Anything for the salarians, right, Commander?" Joker returned, sarcastic.

"Gotta love salarians," Shepard answered, before severing the connection.

* * *

The cockpit was filled with the sound of Joker pressing buttons on his display as Shepard approached. She could not help but be a little surprised by the apparent flurry of activity, as usually it did not seem to take any effort at all for Joker to connect them to the docking authority and pull them into port, but now, for some reason, he appeared to be meeting with trouble on the other end. "Alliance Control, this is SSV Normandy, are we clear to descend?" Joker asked, beeping a communications access serial into a box that kept popping up on the screen, asking for identification. No matter how many times he seemed to input the information, the box would just pop up again, requesting for him to input the information once more.

Resting a hand on the back of the pilot's seat, Shepard frowned, looking out the cockpit window to where she could clearly see the Citadel floating within easy access range. It was strange that the Normandy could be hovering in an airspace where anyone within the Citadel could simply look out the window and see them, yet no one seemed to be bothering to acknowledge their presence. "Alliance Control, this is Normandy – we're headed to Bay 1-4, Zakera Ward, are we clear to descend?" Joker requested again, getting frustrated. "What the hell's going on down there? Even if there were a station malfunction, they'd have backups online. I've got a bad feeling here. I'm gonna check emergency channels, see if I can figure out what's up."

"Good idea," Shepard commended, leaning on the back of his chair, anxious.

Clearing his display, Joker pressed an agitated finger to his in-ear comm, dragging a new frame from the far edge of the holo-screen and starting to scroll until he seemed to hit on something. "Hello?" he asked, testing it, before his expression suddenly cleared. "Hey, yeah, this is Joker! Uh-huh, yeah, no kidding." Then, turning to look back at Shepard, he pointed to his console. "Commander, there's a communication from Thane," he told her. "He says it's important. I think you'll want to hear this."

"Put him through," Shepard agreed, leaning in to listen.

The intercom system hissed as Joker quickly switched over from the in-ear comm to the overhead, before Thane's deep, raspy voice finally came over the speakers for everyone in the cockpit to hear. "Shepard, the Citadel is under attack," the drell reported, urgently. "Cerberus troops are everywhere and they're in control of the docks."

"Are you safe?" Shepard asked, leaning anxiously on the back of Joker's chair.

"No," Thane told her, truthfully. "I had to evade their commandos at the hospital. I'm in a Presidium storefront."

"Did Ashley make it out?" Shepard asked, hopeful.

"We got separated," Thane replied. "She said she had to protect the Council. I'm going to C-Sec headquarters."

At this, Shepard frowned, taken aback. "Why C-Sec headquarters?" she asked, surprised.

"It's been compromised, and C-Sec's response depends on it," Thane told her, frankly. "As long as Cerberus is holding the headquarters they have the station."

"All right," Shepard nodded, before turning and starting to make her way out of the cockpit. "Joker, get us away from the docks and close to C-Sec HQ. We'll deploy in the shuttle."

"Aye-aye, Commander," Joker agreed, closing the communication.

* * *

The door of Shepard's cabin slid open, revealing Liara standing in the doorway, her gloved hands clasped anxiously in front of her. "Oh good, you're here," Shepard said, beckoning her over towards the bed, where her armour lay spread out on the comforter. "I need your help getting this on. I used to be able to do it on my own, but things being what they are…"

"I understand," Liara answered, nodding.

"Great," Shepard answered. "First, I need some help zipping this stupid underthing up. I can reach the zipper but it's being stubborn for some reason."

"For some reason," Liara repeated, pointedly, before taking hold of the zipper and pushing it upward, forcibly. "Suck in," she instructed, and, slowly but surely, she managed to zip the tough-hewn material together, forcing the suit closed and secure.

"Thanks," Shepard told her, able to breathe again. "You're a pal, Liara."

"How long do you intend to try to keep this a secret?" Liara asked, propping her hands thoughtfully on her hips as she stared worriedly at the minor curve protruding from the Commander's undersuit. The material of the suit was thick and tough enough that it concealed the telltale bump effectively enough that anyone not looking for it would easily miss it, but it was still quite clearly there. "You know eventually someone is going to notice something is awry when it starts taking you this much longer to put on your uniform."

"That's why I have you to help me," Shepard answered, matter-of-factly. "Now, if you could help me with the rest of the suit, I'd really appreciate it."

Liara sighed, bending down to the bed to pick up the first piece of Shepard's armour, and Shepard turned, holding out her arms expectantly. When, after a moment, she did not feel the first piece being strapped on, she glanced back over her shoulder, confused, to see Liara still standing with the piece in hand, staring at the back of Shepard's undersuit, her painted brows drawn into a soft, anxious frown. "Shepard, are you sure you want to go down?" she asked, looking up at her, her malt-blue eyes worried and set. "There are so many other people who would be more than willing to go down in your place. They're well-trained and intelligent, and I'm sure they can take care of the situation just as well as you can."

"I'm going down, Liara," Shepard insisted, now starting to get annoyed. "Just help me get this thing on. I can't keep them waiting any longer than I absolutely have to."

"Maybe you should ask the Alliance for a new set of armour," Liara suggested, looping the abdominal guard around her stomach and pulling the straps until she managed to snap them closed around her friend's back. With the abdominal guard settled in on top of the heavy undersuit, it was nearly impossible to tell there was anything awry with the Commander. "Tell them this one got ruined somehow. You broke off a thigh-guard or something. Or the biotic tech harnessing is fried and won't read."

"Or you could just work on getting me those names you said you would look up for me," Shepard returned, picking up her helmet off the bed, starting to get peeved. "I thought you said getting information was what you were good at. It's been almost a week, Liara. Haven't you found anybody yet?"

"You told me you only wanted somebody you could trust to be discreet," Liara told her, sounding equally nonplussed. "I don't know if you realize this, but it's not exactly easy finding someone to do a procedure like this without giving out any personal information whatsoeve—"

"Thanks, Liara," Shepard told her, cutting her off, frustrated. "I think I can handle the rest of my armour from here."

"Shepard—" Liara started to warn.

"I said I got it," Shepard snapped.

Liara bristled, pursing her blueberry lips, her hands returning to her hips. Then, turning, she started to head for the door, before turning and addressing Shepard again, pointedly. "Either you should keep the baby or you shouldn't," she told her. "You're not fooling anyone with this noncommittal back and forth. If you want to keep the baby, you should keep it, and if you don't want to keep it, nobody will judge you for that, either. But holding on like this when you don't know what you want to do with it is just cruel."

"Get _out_ , Liara!" Shepard demanded.

"Fine!" Liara exclaimed, hurt. Then, turning on her heel, she exited the cabin, letting the door slide shut behind her. Once Liara was gone, Shepard turned, throwing her helmet back down on her bed with an angry yell. Then, before she could stop herself, she sat down on the bed, burying her face in her hands, defeated.

* * *

The Kodiak zipped effortlessly around the spires and walkways of the Citadel's buildings, the windows of the buildings blazing by too fast for anyone inside to see the shuttle, or for anyone in the shuttle to see inside. Shepard was not a fan of going into a situation blind, but figured they had little choice in the matter, all things considered. Pulling her Marauder from its maglock at her back, she weighed it anxiously in her hands, cupping the smooth base of the weapon as her fingers tapped against its side, itching for the trigger. "Here's the plan," she said, turning to face her teammates in the shuttle. "We drop in hot and take out as many Cerberus troopers as we can. Our main priority right now is to find Thane, then all of us will head up to C-Sec headquarters. Thane says if we take back C-Sec, we can take back the Citadel. Got it?"

"Got it, Commander," Vega answered, giving a reassuring little salute.

"Thane is the drell assassin, right?" Kasumi asked, before bringing up a hand to cover a conspiratorial little smile. "I remember him. He is very good-looking. Very proficient at his job as well, but… also very handsome."

"Sure I guess, if you're into that," Vega answered, shrugging. "Drell always looked kinda froggy, to me. But if you guys dig that, I guess that's cool."

"Aw, don't be jealous, Vega," Kasumi cooed, sliding over to drape two reassuring hands over his broad shoulders. "You are also quite attractive. And sweet! Anyone would be lucky to have you."

"You think so?" Vega grinned, glancing over towards her. "Thanks, _Sombra_."

"Anytime," Kasumi returned. Then, tracing the outline of the Alliance symbol on the front of his chestplate with one finger, she added, wryly, "So… what are you doing later tonight?"

"We're here," Shepard announced, cutting their moment short. Kasumi and Vega were quickly on their feet, and as soon as the side door of the Kodiak opened, Shepard jumped out, followed closely by her two teammates, who ducked for cover on either side of the stairway leading up to the door of the C-Sec office. Blasts of plasmic light flew overhead, the dull drumming of Cerberus weapons interrupted only by muffled shouting, the troopers' voices made almost indistinguishable through their thick, specialized helmets. Kasumi vanished, skirting her way around the edge of the perimeter, while Vega took an offensive position, propping himself just over the edge of his hiding-place and drawing the heaviest weapon he had brought with him. Between his hard-hitting artillery, Shepard's semi-automatic fire, and Kasumi's stealth, the Cerberus troopers had soon been taken care of, and they quickly pulled out of hiding, making their way up the stairs towards the doorway.

Beside the door, Captain Bailey sat in a small pool of broken plexiglass, a tiny trickle of blood seeping between his fingers as he pressed a hand to a wound in his side, which seemed to have been otherwise thankfully cauterized by the plasma bullet it had taken. "Shepard," he grunted, beckoning her over. "I saw those Cerberus troops on ya. I thought you were done for."

"Bailey?" Shepard frowned, crouching down to him. "What are you doing here?"

"Gettin' my ass shot off tryin' to retake headquarters," Bailey answered, truthfully. "Cerberus took it in the first push. We gotta kick them outta there. Everyone in C-Sec's flyin' blind without the network."

"How bad is the situation?" Vega asked, watching as Shepard pulled a tube of medi-gel from her pouch, unscrewing the cap and beginning to dab the fast-drying ointment on Bailey's wound. "Do you know if the Councillors are still alive?"

"They split up," Bailey told him, hissing a bit as Shepard touched a sore spot. "I'll know if I can access the terminal inside."

Finished applying medi-gel, Shepard returned the tube to her pouch, getting to her feet and offering a hand towards Bailey, who took it, letting her help him to his feet. "Can you get us in?" Shepard asked, taking a step back, allowing Bailey room to breathe.

"I'll get the door," Bailey told her, nodding. "If no one interrupts me with a bullet this time…" Limping to the security panel beside the sealed double-doors, Bailey input a code, and, with a sharp beep, the doors hissed open, allowing the group inside. Shepard, Vega, and Kasumi instantly raised their weapons, ready to fire, but were met with nothing but an empty, silent hallway. "Here we go," Bailey said, moving around the computer desk situated in the front entryway and dropping himself into the seat. "C-Sec network access. Courtesy of Cerberus."

"How's that gonna help?" Shepard asked, moving up to lean against the computer desk, her gun still trained on the adjoining hall, ready for any unexpected surprises from Cerberus.

"Cerberus has control of the main channels, but I can set up a new one," Bailey answered, typing information into the console quicker than Shepard could figure out what he was doing. "Without it our people have no plan and no chance. …Hello."

"What have you got?" Shepard asked, dropping her weapon to take a look at what Bailey was doing on the console.

"A warning from Councillor Valorn," Bailey answered, opening a message file so that it expanded to fit the whole screen. "He's supposed to be here, meeting with the Executor. 'Be on guard: the likelihood of betrayal from within is high'. Not a lot else… but if he's inside…"

Shepard frowned. "Why would the Councillor be meeting with the Executor?" she asked, concerned.

"Usually it means someone big is about to be prosecuted," Bailey answered, matter-of-factly. "I guess that someone had Cerberus friends."

"The Councillor mentioned Udina…" Shepard began, before shaking her head. "But that's insane. Does he even have this kind of pull?"

"Well, you know who'd have the answer to that?" Bailey answered, frankly. "The Councillor."

"One Councillor's better than zero," Shepard sighed. "Where am I headed?"

"He could be in the Executor's office," Kasumi suggested, making a quick check of her weapon to be sure the heat sink was still fresh. "It's a fairly defensible position."

"I'm on it," Shepard announced. "Bailey, sync our omni-tools and keep in touch. I fully expect trouble."

"Don't I know you?" Bailey asked, narrowing his eyes at Kasumi, but before he could have a chance to place her, Shepard had turned, heading further into the building, with her team following closely behind.

* * *

With the most recent level cleared of Cerberus troops, Shepard quickly made her way to the elevator at the far end of the room, resetting the override on the panel beside the elevator doors and listening for the telltale hissing and grinding sound that let her know their ride to the upper levels was on its way. The elevator doors opened with an inviting ding, and Shepard, Vega, and Kasumi were quick to pile inside. Jamming the button on the panel to send them upward, Shepard docked her Marauder, turning to face Kasumi as the doors closed shut behind them and the elevator began to move. "How much further to the Executor's office, Kasumi?" she asked. "Do you remember?"

"Once we reach the upper floor, there's a hallway, then an open clearing," Kasumi answered, making indicative motions with her hands to go along with her explanation. "Then there should just be a flight of stairs before we reach the Executor's office. Simple enough, if we don't run into any unanticipated trouble."

"What would you classify as 'unanticipated trouble'?" Vega asked, giving a small, incredulous laugh. "From my experience with the Commander, pretty much everything should be classified as 'anticipated trouble'. Never a dull moment, right, Commander?" He looked up, expecting an answer from Shepard, but she did not seem to even hear him. She shifted from foot to foot, wetting her lips, before letting out a short, hard huff of breath and looking down at her feet. She tapped her hand against her thigh, anxiously leaning against the wall of the elevator, feeling the gentle rattling of the trolley on its cable, which now felt almost agonizing. Vega frowned, watching her, before finally clearing his throat to get her attention.

"Commander?" he repeated, worried. "Are you okay? You seem kinda… antsy."

"She probably just has to pee," Kasumi commented, teasingly.

"I _do_ have to pee," Shepard answered, frankly. "I've had to pee since we were on the Kodiak."

"Why didn't you just go before we left?" Vega asked. "You had plenty of time to do it on the Normandy."

"I didn't _have_ to, then," Shepard returned, peeved. "Clearly, James. Or else I would have done it."

"Sorry I asked," Vega answered, holding up a hand, innocent. "Jeez. Women are _loco_."

"Or maybe men are just insensitive," Kasumi suggested.

"Are we still talking about Shepard needing to pee?" Vega asked, looking over at Kasumi, confused, but before he could get his answer, the elevator had reached their floor, and the doors slid open with a _ding_. Instantly, they were hit with gunfire from all directions, but even so it did not take long for them to clear the room of Cerberus troops. Heading down the hall and up the stairs as Kasumi had instructed, Shepard led the way to a wide, unlocked door with the word 'Executor' written above it in big, blocky blue lettering. Taking point on one side, with Vega on the other, she let Kasumi open the door, and the three made their careful way inside, looking around for an ambush before moving in to investigate the scene.

"Bailey," Shepard reported, pressing two fingers to her earcomm. "Looks like they got the Executor and two salarian bodyguards."

"Damn," Bailey swore. "All right, keep searching. If you don't see the Councillor's body, don't count him out yet."

Vega moved to the edge of the room, to the large window overlooking a spacious meeting-hall, and Shepard followed him, curious. It did not take long before one of the chairs in the hall began moving, and, after another moment of watching, the salarian Council member stood up from under the table, his cloaking device fizzling out as he looked around, checking to see if the coast was clear. "Found him," Shepard reported, pressing on her earcomm again. "He looks unharmed."

"Get him somewhere safe," Bailey instructed.

"Got it," Shepard started to say, but before the words had even finished leaving her mouth, she spotted a dark form out of the corner of her eye. A man, dressed all in black, had dropped from somewhere in the metal rafters into the hall with the salarian Councillor, and was starting to creep closer to him, menacingly, his light-footed actions giving the impression of a trained dancer or gymnast. The exaggerated aura of comic-book villainy this individual exuded would have been almost painfully heavy-handed, had the situation not been so dire. Thinking fast, Shepard picked up her gun, firing into the glass window of the Executor's office and shattering it, before sliding out the window herself and landing heavily on her feet on the floor of the meeting-hall. Grabbing up her gun again, she aimed it at the assassin, who quickly moved out of the way, using a nearby railing as a catalyst to springboard himself to the far side of the salarian Councillor and holding up a hand to show off a white biotic glow as a thin, knowing smirk slid across his angled, half-hidden face.

"Don't even think about it," Shepard warned, moving in closer, her gun aimed squarely at the assassin's head.

"Shepard, he's going to kill us all!" the salarian Councillor hissed, holding up his hands, frightened.

"That remains to be seen," Shepard answered, testy, holding her gun at the ready.

"I mean Udina," the Councillor insisted. "He's staging a coup. He's got the other Councillors now to hand over to Cerberus!"

Shepard frowned, gritting her teeth. This news had not been entirely unexpected, considering all the warning signs leading up to this point, but it still stung to hear it. The sound of the door of the meeting-hall sliding open caught her attention, and she glanced back in time to see Vega and Kasumi moving into the hall, their weapons drawn at the ready as well. Turning her attention back to Leng, she jabbed her gun in his direction, indicative. "Three on one, pal," she told him, taking another step forward. "It's over."

"No," Leng replied, shaking his head, his voice dark with bitter amusement. "Now it's fun." He sidestepped again, the pulsing glow in the palm of his hand giving a warbling buzz as it began to grow in strength, and the Councillor held up his hands, covering his face from the impending blast. Suddenly, the sound of a gun whining as it heated up pressed against Leng's ear, and he turned his head, surprised, only to see a fourth assailant aiming a gun at him, this one a drell.

"Didn't even hear me coming," Thane said.

* * *

Shepard cursed, raising a hand to cover her eyes as she watched the shuttle with Kai Leng astride it zipping off in the direction of the upper levels. Popping the heat sink on her gun angrily, she turned back towards the door she had come from, where Vega and Kasumi stood eagerly, looking up after the shuttle as well. "The son of a bitch got away," Shepard exclaimed, moving back towards them, out of breath. "Where the hell does he think he's going?"

"He's heading up to the top floor," Thane informed her, pressing past Vega and Kasumi to make his way to the front. "To a shuttle pad in the Presidium. That's where Udina's holding the Councillors. That's where you have to go."

"Thane!" Shepard exclaimed, storing her gun in its maglock before moving over to him and making a quick once-over check of his most obvious exposed parts. "Are you hurt? It really looked like he got you pretty good back there. I was worried he might have killed you."

"He very nearly did," Thane answered, truthfully. Lifting the flap of his coat, he showed her a telltale hole that had been burned through it, the plasti-dipped threads melted at the ends where the electrically-charged weapon had seared through the material. "My time on board your ship was well spent," he told her, letting the coat fall back into place. "I learned quite a bit from Miss Goto. My methods are good – the best – but hers were…" He faltered, trying to think of a good word for it. "She helped me improve my craft in ways I had not thought to before," he finally said. "My ideology initially hinged almost entirely on stealth, but she convinced me to try adding a cloaking component to it. Illusion. Tricking the eyes, in addition to just the ears. It looks like it saved my life. I'll have to thank her for that one of these days."

"You can thank her now, if you want," Shepard told him, nodding towards Kasumi, who she could already see was beaming under her hood.

"Perhaps later," Thane decided, lifting his head and clasping his hands dutifully behind his back. "When things are a bit more settled. Wouldn't want it going to her head by telling her about it so soon after my actual brush with death. What a catastrophe that would be." He chuckled, good-natured, the sound a low, soothing rumble, before taking in a long, slow, deep breath. "I was lucky Leng fell for my projection," he added, more solemn. "Half a second sooner and it would have been me. It very nearly _was_ me." Lifting a hand, he pressed it to the hole in his coat, self-conscious. "Leng is good," he told her, nodding once, solemnly. "He's very good. But comparatively, he is still a young man. He still has much to learn. He is very, very talented, but also very, very cocky. He doesn't know when it is time to wait his opponent out, or simply try again another day."

Letting his hand fall back to his side, Thane took another deep breath, thoughtful. "He is headstrong," he added. "Rash. Arrogant. And it will be his downfall."

"Good," Shepard replied, her voice barely above a growl. "I'd like to kill the son of a bitch right now, if I could."

"Your intentions are good, but your reaction is reckless," Thane warned her. "Give him time to get comfortable. Let him come to you. He'll get cocky again. That's when you can take him out most easily. Right now your priority is the Council."

"Right," Shepard agreed. "Meanwhile, you take the salarian Councillor back to the Normandy. One near-death experience is enough for you for one day. There's a shuttle waiting with a pilot, Cortez, just outside the building on the ground floor. Just tell him I sent you."

"Your concern for my well-being is touching, Shepard," Thane told her, amused.

"Yes," Kasumi agreed, barely able to contain a conspiratorial grin. "Shepard is very good at that. Touching people."

"You're terrible, and that's not funny," Shepard told her, but she could hardly keep from smiling at the lowbrow joke, herself. Then, turning towards a taxi shuttle parked nearby on the landing, she pressed two fingers to her earcomm, quickly getting Bailey back on the line. "Bailey," she told him, pushing a button on the side door of the taxi and watching it open easily with a hiss. "Get the word out that Udina's trying to seize power. I've got to get to the Councillors." Sliding into the driver's seat, she waited for Kasumi and Vega to take their places in the car as well before pressing another button and allowing the car to close up and seal itself tightly. The engine whined into life as she pressed the ignition, the shuttle wavering a bit as its thrusters fired, pushing it up into the air.

"Start drivin'," Bailey told her. "I'll try to raise them on the comm. Good luck, Commander."

* * *

It felt good to be out of her armour. Her feet ached, every inch of her felt bruised and sore, and, best of all, freedom from her armour meant her job was done. Ashley, embarrassed about her blindness to the truth of Udina's treachery, had agreed to come back to the Normandy after the ordeal on the Citadel. She had taken up lodging in the Starboard Observation room, sealing the door behind her once she was inside, preferring to be left alone to think about what she had almost done. Shepard knew to give space where it was needed, and so had not pursued the matter, instead making her way to the room adjoining the life support system, where Thane had made his comfortable home once more, having convinced Zaeed to move down into the hidey-hole Jack had once called home. The mercenary had not taken much convincing, and had instead decided that he would spend his time until he was needed again sprucing the place up.

"It's a better arrangement overall, I think," he had said when Shepard had asked him about it. "If we're boarded by those goddamn creepy-crawlies again, nobody will think to look down here. I'll be living large while you're all being turned into Reaper food." At this, he had paused, before giving a telltale grunt. "Plus, with any luck, it'll take a while for Karin to figure out I've moved down here," he had added, reaching up a hand to rub at his stubbled chin. "No more poking about, asking if I've taken my vitamins for the day. You'd think she thought we were married or something, the way she picks after me. Take your vitamins! I'm plenty bloody healthy, thanks very much." With nothing else to add to the conversation, Shepard had left him more or less to his own devices after that, but she could still hear him grumbling about Chakwas' care all the way up the stairs.

Thane, it seemed, was settling in to his reclaimed abode quite nicely. Chakwas had given him some scans when he had first come aboard, before prescribing him some medication to help keep him dry, and the liquid off his lungs. It was only a temporary fix, and they both knew it, but Thane claimed that it made him feel much better, if only in the short run. Satisfied that her newest crewmate was doing all right, Shepard had taken her leave of him, instead making her way down to the war room for some alone time, and a chance to think. After a harrowing mission, she always found the war room to be a peaceful break from the frantic, nonstop pace of the world outside the Normandy. Everything in the war room was constant, from the slowly-spinning hologram of the Crucible in the middle of the hall to the soft, steady beeping of the machines.

Shepard leaned on the edge of the console, taking in deep, calming breaths, her eyes fluttering half-closed as she listened to the gentle whir of the mechanics, allowing her nerves to settle. She did not have long to enjoy it, however, before she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Opening her eyes, she turned to face her company, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as she looked up at Garrus, who came to a stop a few feet away from her, appearing oddly irritated.

"You look upset," Shepard told him, blunt. She was in no mood for runaround today, especially not after what she had just been through at the hands of Cerberus and the Illusive Man's newest pet.

"You didn't think to ask me to come along on a mission to protect C-Sec?" Garrus asked, sounding just as frustrated as he looked. "My old line of work? You don't think I could have helped with that?"

Shepard frowned, taken aback. Then, glancing over her shoulder to make sure they were alone, she looked back at him again, agitated, leaning her hip against the edge of the hub. "I didn't really have time to think about strategy, Garrus," she informed him, peevishly, shrugging her shoulders. "I didn't do it on purpose. It was a snap decision. Vega and Kasumi were there."

"Yeah, I've noticed that seems to be your general way of making decisions," Garrus noted, scoffing. "If someone is _there_." Instantly, he seemed to regret this snide comment, and he quickly looked down, embarrassed by his outburst. "I'm sorry, Shepard," he apologized. "I didn't mean that. That was out of line. It's just…" He sighed, frustrated, unsure of what he was trying to say, before looking up at Shepard again, his mandibles giving an agitated, self-conscious twitch. "I saw Liara going up to your room," he told her, his voice quieter. "A few days ago. Or… you know what I mean. And she didn't leave for hours. Several hours." Sucking in another breath, he made a face, almost bracing himself for the next question. "Are you two getting back together?" he asked, warily. "If you are, it's okay, I'd just… I'd like to know, is all."

At this, Shepard's expression cleared, surprised. Then, just as quickly, she frowned again, suspicious of his apparent sudden intense interest in her personal life. "What does it matter, Garrus?" she asked, crossing her arms, wary. "You and I have never been mutually exclusive. At least, I didn't think so. I thought this whole thing, our whole… thing… was just… casual. Is that… is that not what you thought?"

Garrus hesitated, fidgeting a bit, before glancing once anxiously over his shoulder and then back at her again, trying hard not to look put on the spot. "I mean, it can be. If you want," he told her, though there was something undeniably forced about his answer. "I don't have a problem with… if you want to, y'know, see other… other people, but…" He wavered again, unsure what else to say, his voice trailing off. Then, letting out a heavy, honest sigh, he dropped his hands back this sides, fixing her with an earnest, electric-blue gaze. "Actually," he told her. "If I'm being truthful… yes, I'm bothered by it. And not because it's Liara. I like Liara. Because… I was…" He faltered, starting to fidget again, before letting out another big sigh and shrugging, earnestly.

"Well, honestly, I was hoping we could try to… _become_ … exclusive," he admitted, finally. "Which sounds ridiculous, now that I'm saying it out loud, but… I… I like you a lot, Shepard. And I feel like… or, I guess, I was _hoping_ you felt the same way. That you liked me a lot, too." He stared at her, trying to read her expression, hoping for some response, something to let him know how she felt about the whole thing. "I'm not meaning to put any undue pressure on you, all things considered," he added, quickly. "But… maybe, if you'd be willing, I'd like to… give us a try. As a couple. A _real_ couple this time, not just…"

Shepard sighed, cutting off his fumbling as she ran a hand back through her hair, her other hand resting, frustrated, on her hip. She did not know what was making her so uncomfortable about this proposition – she liked Garrus a lot, but she had never been one for romance, or exclusivity, or much of anything past whirlwind-type flings, and his proposition, however sweet, was putting her on the spot. "Garrus… we're at war," she finally told him, holding out an explaining hand.

"That doesn't mean anything," Garrus countered, quickly. "…I mean, yeah, sure, of course it does, but… you know what I mean. Just because we're at war doesn't mean we shouldn't think about ourselves. We're not machines, Shepard, we have… feelings. Lives. If we dedicate the entirety of ourselves to this war, then once the war is over, what will be left?" He held out his hands, waiting for her answer, before finally deciding to just answer it, himself. "Nothing," he told her. "We'll have nothing left. You can't sacrifice _every_ part of yourself for the greater good, you know. You're a person, too. You have a life."

Shepard hesitated, thrown off-kilter by his logic. The worst part was that he was making a lot of sense, and she found herself suddenly questioning the stick-to-it, war-comes-first idealism she had found herself subscribed to for what felt like the first time since getting back on board the Normandy after her six months of shore leave. "You really think there are more important things in life than being dedicated to a cause?" she asked, frowning as she crossed her arms over her chest again.

"Of course," Garrus answered, matter-of-factly. "I know you, Shepard. This whole… tough, dedicated soldier thing is just one part of you. You're funny, you're warm, you're kind. You're a good person, but this war is taking so much out of you that I'm having a hard time recognizing you, myself." Leaning back against the war console as well, he turned his head, glancing back towards the slowly-spinning Crucible, and Shepard was quick to follow his gaze, curious. "What do you see when you look in the mirror?" he asked, her thoughtful. "Is all you see the soldier? Because that's all I've been able to see these last few weeks. It's not you, Shepard. You're so much more than that."

"I don't know how to _be_ anyone else," Shepard admitted, turning her attention back to him again. "Being good at my job is all I know how to do really well. You know me, Garrus. You know I'm awkward at best outside of work. If it weren't for my job as Commander, I wouldn't even have any friends."

"That's not true," Garrus scolded her, shaking his head. They fell silent for a moment, Shepard folding her arms as both of them looked intently at the floor. Then, his mandibles giving a nervous twitch, Garrus turned his gaze up towards her again, watching her, anxiously. "Can I… kiss you?" he suddenly asked. Then, realizing he might have made a mistake, he added, quickly, "I mean… unless…"

"Liara is just a good friend," Shepard assured him, shaking her head. "She just came up to check on me. I ate some bad something-or-other and got food poisoning, I think. Not a pretty sight." A faintly embarrassed smile touching her lips then, she shrugged, encouraging. "Liara is a saint for taking care of it," she told him. "Might have been that pizza-thing Gardener made for Joker, but I'm not entirely sure."

"Yeah," Garrus agreed with a chuckle. "That did look… suspicious, at best." He fell silent again, almost awkward. Then, reaching over towards her, he took her chin in his hand, gently, before leaning across the gap between them and pressing his mouth to hers. The kiss lasted for a long time, longer than she realized, until finally he pulled away again, breaking the connection. Garrus smiled at her, his smile gentle, happy, and she could not help but offer a small smile back. "I like this exclusivity thing," he joked, lightheartedly. "Anything that means I get kisses like those all to myself is all right with me."

"Are kisses all you want?" Shepard joked back, raising her brows. "I figured I was getting into this deal for more than that. I don't know if I'm getting my full money's worth out of this bargain."

"Yeah, well," Garrus said, chuckling as he leaned back against the console again, shrugging his shoulders, lazily. "You gotta start slow with these kinds of things if you want them to last. I mean, I don't see this turning into marriage and a baby just _yet_ , but… maybe, with time. We'll see."

"Yeah," Shepard returned, the humour suddenly leaving her, giving a forced, uncomfortable chuckle as she tucked her hands self-consciously back into the pockets of her hoodie. "We'll see."


	14. WEEK ELEVEN, Pt.1

With the Citadel out of commission, that meant Huerta Memorial was out of commission as well until measures could be taken to recoup what had been lost when Cerberus had taken over the station. Unfortunately, this included all of Thane's medical records, which had been deleted when Cerberus had repurposed the servers to better fit their use, erasing extraneous information files they had deemed unimportant to their cause and locking out everyone who had been using the servers for anything else in the process. It had been a hard blow, but, as Thane kept reminding Shepard, not a crushing one. His eidetic memory, while only available in short flashes, had managed to retain nearly all of the information he had been given on the state of his condition during his stay at Huerta Memorial. And so, working together with Chakwas, they had managed to put together a comprehensive profile of his medical needs, which Shepard had then brought to Liara in the hopes that she might be able to use her resources to find another medical centre somewhere in the galaxy that would be able to provide the services that Thane required.

"I'm still looking for the first thing you asked me for," Liara had informed her when Shepard handed over the list of requirements, frowning faintly as she looked it over. "This is going to take some time. As good as my resources are, both of these things are highly time-sensitive, and I'm afraid I can't do both in the short period before they become dire—"

"Do this one first," Shepard told her, tapping the digipad she had given her.

"Are you sure?" Liara asked, bringing the digipad anxiously to her chest to look up at Shepard again. "This request is honestly a long shot. Organ replacement is not only a difficult procedure to find a suitable doctor for, but drell so rarely die with their lungs still intact and not ravaged by Kepral's that their organs are nearly impossible to come by—"

"Do this one first," Shepard insisted, nodding firmly as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. "Mine can wait."

Liara's frown deepened. "How far along do you intend to carry this before you plan to get rid of it?" she asked, barely hiding the obvious note of worried disapproval in her voice.

Shepard faltered, taken aback by the harsh question, unsure how Liara expected her to answer. Instead, she reached out, tapping the digipad in Liara's hands again. "This one is more important," she told her, unwavering in her decision. "Do this one first."

Liara sighed, realizing she was not going to get anywhere with this conversation, before looking down at the digipad in her hands again and reading the list once more. "I'll do what I can," she promised. "Just know that I don't agree with what you're doing. There are better ways to go about this, you know."

"Probably," Shepard had agreed, noncommittal. And that had been the end of the conversation.

Once back in her quarters, Shepard had somehow managed to zip her undersuit up by herself, using the trick Liara had taught her about sucking in before zipping up. It had still been a bit of a struggle to get the zipper past the small of her back, and as she turned away from her armour closet, she brought her finger to her mouth, sucking on the sore, pink skin where the zipper had dug into the flesh of her finger as she struggled to zip her suit up. Crossing her quarters back towards her desk, Shepard wiped her now-wet finger off on her stiff undersuit before pulling up her desk display and accessing her e-mail.

She had received what had appeared to be a suspiciously innocuous message from Aria T'Loak only a few days earlier, requesting she meet with her back on the Citadel, and, as could have been expected, the meeting had turned out to be less than uneventful. It seemed Aria was intent on taking back Omega, and for that, she needed Shepard's help. Shepard had accepted the mission warily, and was less than surprised when Aria had uploaded a map-like program onto Shepard's omni-tool and then had stopped giving her any more information after that, except to tell her that she would fill Shepard in more once they were actually on Omega. She had also insisted that Shepard not tell anyone else about the mission, for fear that if too many people knew about it, the undertaking might be over before it even had a chance to begin.

Opening the original e-mail from Aria, Shepard read it over again, hoping that she might be able to find some clue she had missed, something, _anything_ to let her know that Aria had at least some _semblance_ of a plan, but, as she had expected, there was nothing of the sort to be found. Closing the screen display, she stood straight again, letting out a grunt of discomfort as her back gave a twinge of protest, before letting out a tired sigh and looking up at the lovingly-arranged display of model ships in the window of her desk. She had never really considered what would happen to the ships once she was no longer in command of the Normandy, once her career came to an end and the ship was passed on to a new commanding officer. It had never really occurred to her before that she would not always be Commander of the Normandy, that there was the very real possibility that she would die facing the Reapers, or, even if she did survive this war with the Reapers, she would not make it to her retirement from the service.

Frowning, Shepard crossed her arms, staring intently at the lines of model ships as if she might find the answer to her impasse written somewhere among them. Even if she did make it to her retirement, she had no idea what she intended to do after that. Everything past the idea of being head of the Normandy and fighting the Reapers was a blank slate, nothing more than white noise at the far back of her mind. As she thought, she found herself running her hand distractedly over the gentle curve of her stomach, her thumb tapping a half-attentive, anxious beat against the thick, stiff material of her undersuit.

"What if I kept you after all?" she mused, barely above a distracted murmur. Then, catching herself, she quickly dropped her hand away from her stomach, letting it fall back to her side in a self-scolding fist. _Don't humanize it_ , she reminded herself. Humanizing it would only make it harder to get rid of in the long run. Right now her feelings on the thing inside of her were parasitic at best, but she knew that if she started accidentally identifying with it, or worse, sympathising with it, she might never be able to go through with her plan to get rid of it when it came down to the final call. Crossing her quarters back to her armour locker, Shepard pulled out the abdominal guard, pressing it flat around her middle and yanking the straps as tight as possible, before pressing down on the comm button beside her locker, perhaps a bit harder than necessary, and waiting for the telltale noise of Joker picking up the connection on the other end.

"Joker?" she told him. "I need you to take me to Omega. And tell Cortez to get the Kodiak ready for a drop-off when we get there. I'm going on this one alone." She paused, considering, before rethinking her decision and pressing the comm button again. "Actually, tell Zaeed to meet me down there, if you would," she informed him. "He knows Omega as well as anyone, and it wouldn't hurt to have another pair of eyes."

"You got it, Commander," Joker answered, affirmative, before hanging up the comm on his end and leaving her alone once more.

* * *

The omni-tool map Aria had provided Shepard with directed that she and her team be dropped off at a small, back-alley docking port at what Aria described to be the "back" of Omega. While Shepard could not help but wonder what constituted one side or the other of an effectively round station as the 'back', it still did not take very long for Cortez to find the docking port Aria had been talking about. On the way down to the station's surface, Shepard and Cortez had designated an emergency signal that could be sent from her omni-tool to the Kodiak's controls should she need immediate pickup, and so, secure in the idea that he would come to get her if anything were to go _too_ terribly wrong, Shepard had seen the pilot off with a quick salute of thanks. Then, turning towards the open area, she had pulled her weapon from its maglock, readying herself to come under fire from Cerberus forces.

The dock Aria had directed them to was surprisingly poorly-guarded, which Shepard guessed was probably the reason she had chosen it. Looking around, she spotted a series of locked, reinforced silver boxes stacked up at the edge of the docking area, and what looked like a splatter of fresh, bright orange blood on one of the walls. Since their takeover, Cerberus had apparently allowed the drug trade on Omega to continue, and, as this was one of the major ports for loading and dropping off of product, it seemed they had more or less left it alone for the street gangs to monitor. It was not an entirely ineffective strategy, Shepard figured – gangs involved in the red sand trade disliked uninvited strangers on their turf just as much as Cerberus did, if not more. Sending out troopers to guard the area from unwanted guests when gang members would do just as good a job of keeping people out of Omega, if not better, was more or less pointless.

Hearing a sound coming from behind a stack of boxes, Shepard turned quickly, aiming her weapon, ready to fire at the first sign of movement. "Show yourself!" she insisted, taking a cautious step forward, her weapon trained on the edge of the stack of boxes.

"Calm down, Commander," Aria answered, her voice drawling as she moved out from behind the boxes, unfazed by the weapons still trained on her. "I was just taking care of a little bit of business before you got here." Looking down at her uniform, she frowned, flicking at a spatter of bright-orange blood that matched the blood strewn across the docking bay wall. "Damn," she muttered, trying to brush it off, to no avail. "That's gonna be a bitch to get out." Then, sighing tiredly, she looked up at Shepard again, beckoning for her to come over behind the stack of boxes. "Come on," she said. "Come help me with this. His buddies are gonna be along before too long and I don't want them seeing him and raising the alarm."

Frowning, a little confused, Shepard stashed her weapon again, following Aria over to the stack of boxes, Zaeed following closely behind her. When she reached the boxes, she peered behind them and was surprised to see Aria attempting to drag into cover the bloody corpse of what appeared to be a particularly large krogan mercenary. "Come help me drag this," Aria grunted, bracing herself against her back foot. Shepard and Zaeed rushed over, one taking each opposite arm from Aria's grasp, and they gave a heave, pulling the krogan several inches across the ground. Aria sniffed, wiping the sweat from her upper lip with the back of her wrist as she stepped around the edge of the corpse, overseeing the operation instead.

Before long, Shepard and Zaeed had managed to drag the krogan into the corner of the stack of boxes, and Aria had pulled a folded tarp from where it sat on top of another stack of boxes and draped it over the mercenary, rather unceremoniously. His bulky form could still be made out underneath the makeshift covering, but Shepard figured it would at least buy them a little bit of time until some drug runner's curiosity got the better of him and he made the unfortunate discovery. Flicking at the speck of blood on her jacket half-interestedly again, Aria huffed, still vexed at the slip-up, before turning her attention back to Shepard and Zaeed, all business once more. "I lost nearly all my contacts here when Cerberus took over," she told them, not bothering to thank them for the help they had given. "Most of them were either forced to evacuate, or killed when they refused. Cerberus are a bunch of bullies and cowards."

She paused, and then snorted, giving Shepard a quick once-over. "Of course, I don't have to tell _you_ that," she added, frankly. "You know firsthand what kind of vermin we're dealing with here. Take no prisoners, shoot first ask questions later. Under any other circumstances, I'd be all for that sort of behaviour, but this is Omega we're talking about. My home. Nobody terrorizes Omega and gets away with it."

"Bit of a pisshole to call home," Zaeed commented, looking around at the bleak, blood-splattered dock.

"Yes, but it's _my_ pisshole," Aria returned, turning to look at him, irritated. "And I'm not about to lose it to a group of underhanded, xenophobic Alliance rejects."

"So what's the plan?" Shepard asked, interjecting before the two could argue any further. It seemed to work, as Aria instantly turned her attention away from Zaeed and back towards Shepard.

"Kick them out," she answered, plainly. "I've amassed a fleet of merc ships. They're going to punch through enemy lines and invade. That should provide enough of a distraction to keep Cerberus from paying any attention to a few people on the ground." Snapping her fingers a few times, she indicated towards Shepard's omni-tool hand, making a hurrying, circular motion, and when Shepard pulled it up, she took hold of her wrist, pulling the screen towards her and starting to type into it. "After they're on Omega I expect a full-on ground war," she said, pulling up a program Shepard did not recognize on the screen of the omni-tool. A loading bar appeared, speeding quickly to completion, before a circular waiting symbol started spinning on the screen. "That's why I called you, Shepard. I know I can trust you to do good work when the heat is on. I only accept the best, as you know."

"Right," Shepard agreed, trying not to sound too confused by whatever Aria was doing on her omni-tool. The spinning symbol soon disappeared, replaced instead by what appeared to be a neatly-comprised databank. Aria clicked her tongue pensively as she perused the list of cryptically-named files, before finally seeming to find the one she was looking for and selecting it from the list. With a beep, a personnel file pulled up on the screen, showing a photograph of a grizzled-looking, dark-haired man. "The leader of the Cerberus occupation is General Oleg Petrovsky," she said, letting go of Shepard's wrist to allow her to look at the man in question. "Or so they'd have us believe."

"You don't think he's really in charge?" Shepard asked, frowning down at the picture of the man on her screen.

"Oh, he's the one who ousted me, definitely," Aria answered, propping her hands disapprovingly on her hips. "Tricky, two-faced bastard. He's the Illusive Man's Golden Boy, or so they'd have us believe. A brilliant military strategist…" She scoffed, shaking her head. "The man's a stooge," she said. "I've worked with him before. I know what his quality of work is. And I doubt he was fully responsible for this, if at all. This was far too underhanded and quiet an undertaking for a man to have been in charge. I think he's a patsy. A sacrificial target for whoever's actually in command of the whole operation."

"Who do you think is actually in command?" Shepard asked, collapsing the program to look up at Aria again.

"I don't know," Aria admitted, shrugging. "But whoever it is, I want them dead."

"Fair enough," Shepard answered, folding her arms, interested. "So what's your intel on the occupation?"

"Cerberus' army is massive, and they've got Omega locked tight," Aria told her, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was attempting to creep up on them while they were busy talking. "The information stops there."

"So, you're winging it?" Shepard asked, raising a brow, not entirely comforted by Aria's uninformed bravado.

"Not at all," Aria answered, self-assured. "There are secrets on Omega only I know. Secrets that will provide us a foothold. I can tell you this, though: Cerberus' invasion was precise and ruthless. They'll stop at nothing to win."

"Sounds familiar," Shepard commented, pointedly.

At this, Aria looked up, her blue eyes flashing. "Shepard, I know my reputation," she informed her, frankly. "I know I'm hated. I ruled Omega with an iron fist. But the people were _free_. Their lives were theirs. I preserved that, but the Illusive Man took all that away and now he is going to _pay_." Taking a deep breath then, she calmed herself, holding up her hands to show she meant no harm. "When Omega is mine again, I'll give you everything," she told Shepard, her hands returning to rest on her hips again. "I've got ships, mercs, eezo… all yours for the war."

Shepard frowned, not entirely at ease with Aria's promise. "What's the catch?" she asked, wary.

"No catch," Aria assured her, shaking her head. "You just have to help me take down the ones in charge of this takeover. It's as simple as that. You help me and I help you… you get support for your war and I get Omega back."

"Fair enough," Shepard agreed, uncrossing her arms to let them fall back to her sides again. "So… what's the plan?"

"To kill the snake, you need to cut off the head," Aria answered, her tattooed brow knitting together in a determined frown. "We can't take on the entirety of Cerberus on our own… as tempted as I am to try. We need to avoid their goons for the most part until we can get some backup from my people, but we should still try to make our way to the main base of operation. Once we're at the base we just need to figure out a way in, then we kill the bastard in charge, whoever it is." She paused, thoughtful, before scoffing and looking down at the ground, nonplussed. "And if it ends up being Oleg after all, fine," she added. "Either way, that should send the rest of the dickless neophytes hanging around this station running off scared back to their precious Illusive Man."

"It's a solid plan," Shepard told her, before making a face. "Just, maybe a little light on details."

"Details aren't important," Aria returned, waving her off. "Why do you think I called you, instead of _literally anybody else_ I could have called? You've got a reputation, Commander. Don't start going all _law-abiding citizen_ on me now."

"I'm not, I'm just…" Shepard frowned, realizing that arguing was going to get her nowhere, before shrugging and reaching a hand back over her shoulder to rest it on the butt of her gun. "I'm not," she repeated, assuring.

"Good," Aria answered. "Now that that's out of the way…" Pulling her weapon from the holster secured at her hip, she popped the heat sink into place, causing the weapon to whine at the ready. "Let's get this party started," she said.

* * *

Even the best-laid plans had ways of going awry. With this in mind, it hardly came as a surprise to Shepard that Aria's plan, with little to no beginning groundwork apart from 'go in, shoot, and hope for the best', had more or less fallen apart in next to no time flat. Within minutes it became apparent that the Cerberus troopers were not going to be as easy to sneak past as they had hoped, and Shepard found herself struggling to keep her weapon from burning a hole through her reinforced gloves as she switched from one heat sink to another, barely giving the weapon time to cool down before she started firing again. Still, as unpolished as the plan had been at the start, Aria's _get there or get killed_ course of action seemed to be working. It was only once they had managed to get past the first large, open area and Shepard and Zaeed had taken cover behind what appeared to be a large, domed electrical hub that Shepard suddenly realized that something was terribly wrong.

"Where's Aria?" Shepard hissed. Zaeed glanced over his shoulder, taking a quick look around the edge of the hub, before turning back to Shepard and shrugging, just as bewildered. Shepard sighed, frustrated, leaning her head back against the cool side of the hub. "Shit," she whispered, gritting her teeth. She guessed it should not have come as so much of a surprise – somewhere between the extremely aggressive nubuild mechs, the plasmalight forcefield, and the seemingly constant attacks by small pockets of hypervigilant Cerberus troopers, something was bound to have gone wrong. She had just hoped it would not be something like this.

"We can't stay here, Shepard," Zaeed reminded her. "We've got to keep moving forward."

"Right, you're right," Shepard agreed, grunting as she pushed herself upwards. "Let's get going. Help me up."

Zaeed grabbed her arm, yanking her unceremoniously the rest of the way to her feet, before turning and peering around the corner of the hub again, checking for any more Cerberus troopers. "Coast is clear," he told her, shortly, before skirting around the edge of the hub and out into the open, his weapon at the ready. Shepard followed behind him, covering his back as they walked, popping the spent heat sink from her gun and pulling a fresh sink from her pouch to replace it. Moving over to one of the fallen troopers, Zaeed rummaged around in the soldier's pack, coming back to Shepard with a handful of fresh sinks, which they split between them. Then, jerking her head towards a nearby alley opening nearby, Shepard led the way out of the open area and into the relative safety of the side alley.

"Bit weird having a ceiling here, isn't it?" Zaeed commented, looking up and making a face. "Especially in an alley. Doesn't seem right. You think Omega, you think open skies. No stars, though. Just buildings and smog."

"It also means no light," Shepard reminded him, twisting the knob on the top of her Marauder to turn on the built-in light. "Stay on your guard. Don't want anything jumping out of the shadows and surprisin—" But before the word could even finish leaving her mouth, something jumped into the beam of light, letting out an inhuman snarl and shriek and slapping the weapon out of her hands. "Zaeed!" Shepard panicked, watching the thin beam of light spin away across the floor, and Zaeed quickly raised his weapon, ready to fire. Unwilling to go down without a fight, Shepard clenched her fist, causing her omni-blade to flare into life, casting a bright, flame-orange glow across their unseen attacker. The vorcha hissed at her, a trickle of spittle spraying from between its long, needle-like teeth as its wide, milky eyes reflected the light of her blade, unblinking.

"You not Cerberus," he growled, puffing himself up to look bigger than he really was. "You intruder!"

"And you're a dead man if you try anything else funny like that," Zaeed growled in return, moving forward to shove his gun up against the vorcha's snub nose. "You think I'm fucking with you? Try it, ugly. Go ahead. Try to raise the alarm. You'll be dead before the first word of warning comes out of your filthy mouth."

"Zaeed," Shepard cautioned him, warningly. Still holding her omni-blade at the ready, she side-stepped warily across the alley, picking up her gun again and only letting the omni-blade blink out once she was proficiently armed. Using the light from her weapon, she scanned the passageway, and was less than surprised to see that there was not just one vorcha, but several, all huddled menacingly against the walls of the alley, watching her, their wide, buggish eyes intent, knowing they could see her just fine in the near-dark even if she could not really see them. "Don't let them get to you," Shepard told Zaeed, putting a hand on his arm but keeping her light trained on the vorcha. "It's not worth wasting the ammo on them. They're just full of hot air."

"Full of _nothing_!" the vorcha howled, snorting and baring his teeth again.

" _Hey_ ," Shepard warned, pointing her gun towards the first vorcha this time. "Don't make me regret pulling him off of you. He's not as nice as I am."

The vorcha hissed again, pulling up its shoulders and starting to take a step forward towards her, when suddenly he found himself whacked, hard, across the side of the head by another vorcha who until then had been standing a little bit away. The vorcha whimpered like a kicked dog, bringing up both hands to cover his now-ringing ear. "That hurt!" he snarled. "What you do that for? I no deserve that!"

"Quiet, Kryl!" the other vorcha snapped, taking another intimidating step towards the first, who whimpered again and cowered another few steps away. Then, turning instead to Shepard and Zaeed, the second vorcha considered the two of them for a moment, before indicating with both clawed hands towards Kryl, who was still clutching his stinging ear, looking like a child who had been wrongfully sent to sit in the corner. "Don't kill," the vorcha implored, its tone almost unnervingly even and civil. "Not picking fight. Just stupid. Don't kill for stupidity."

Shepard paused, taken aback, trying to figure out what about this vorcha seemed for some reason _off_ to her. Then, suddenly, she realized what it was – while this vorcha wore the same sort of cross-strapped belted shoulder-guard as Kryl and any other number of vorcha they had encountered, this one made no effort to cover up what Shepard could now see were two lines of nipples running down her abdomen, four on each side. She guessed that censorship of the organic form did not work the same way with vorcha that it did for humans, as, other than that detail, it was nearly impossible to tell the male and female vorcha apart. The female vorcha was a bit trimmer and a bit shorter than the males they had encountered, but her clothes were the same, and her voice was almost exactly the same as well. The only thing that seemed truly different was that the female appeared to be at leastslightly more intelligent.

Before Shepard could say anything about it, the female vorcha began to approach her, walking in an odd, self-satisfied manner, seeming to almost waddle from foot to foot, her hands clutched conspiratorially in front of her. "You come to buy sand, yes?" the vorcha asked, closing one eye to give Shepard a quick once-over with the other. "That why you here? To buy sand?"

"Sand?" Shepard asked, still a bit dumbfounded by the whole situation. She had never been particularly comfortable around vorcha, but most of them knew to keep their distance from a stranger with a gun. This female, however, seemed not only fully at ease with her, but almost overeager to get right up in her business.

"Red sand," the female vorcha replied eagerly, clarifying. "Selling sand to get money to feed children. Good product. Excellent quality."

"You've got children?" Shepard asked, raising her brows, surprised.

"Six children," the vorcha replied, sucking in through her teeth. The other vorcha in the alleyway let out a low, grumbling snarl at this, some beginning to talk amongst themselves, though Shepard could not make out what they were saying. "All hungry. You come to buy sand?"

"I… no," Shepard answered, shaking her head. "I'm not here to buy sand. I don't—I don't do that. I'm sorry."

The female vorcha frowned, taking in a soft, hissing breath as she looked Shepard up and down again, slower and more deliberately this time. "Fine," she gurgled. "You no buy sand. But I no help you get past Cerberus." At this, she turned, starting to walk away from the two of them, but Shepard quickly held out a hand, stopping her in her tracks.

"Wait," she said. "You said something about getting past Cerberus? What do you know about Cerberus?"

The vorcha paused, considering her, before offering her another smug, needle-toothed grin. "You buy sand," she repeated, self-satisfied. "I tell you how to get past Cerberus."

"Fine," Shepard agreed, pulling up her omni-tool and accessing her banking information. "How much is it for the sand?"

The vorcha sucked her teeth again, thinking. Then, taking a breath, she answered, "Five—no. _Ten thousand credits_."

"Ten thousand credits?" Shepard repeated, shocked, dropping her hand back to her side and letting her omni-tool flicker out again. "That's ridiculous. You know what I could get with ten thousand credits?"

"Twenty model ships," Zaeed mused, pointedly. "Give or take a discount."

"You no want sand?" the vorcha returned, growling. "Fine. I go. You get past Cerberus on your own."

"No, wait," Shepard stopped her again. She sighed, frustrated, running a hand back through her hair, before letting it drop back to her side again. She knew the vorcha was shamelessly ripping her off on the value of the sand, but she also knew she was hardly in a place to argue prices. Pulling up her omni-tool again, she accessed her banking information, entering the amount to be transferred. Then, holding out her free hand for the vorcha's credit chit, she scanned it across the omni-tool sensor on the back of her first hand, watching as the amount flashed at the bottom of the projected screen and then vanished, her bank statement automatically updating to show the change in balance. Handing back the credit chit, Shepard collapsed her omni-tool, holding out her free hand expectantly towards the vorcha again. Zaeed frowned, looking down at her outstretched hand, and then up at her face, confused.

"You're not actually _buying_ the stuff, are you?" he asked, sounding more than a little taken aback. "You're just paying for the information, yeah?"

"I'm paying premium for the information," Shepard answered, frankly, continuing to hold out her hand expectantly. "I might as well get the product I was promised."

The vorcha did not even seem fazed by her insistent decision, instead popping open the satchel at her hip, digging around in the stiff leather bag for a moment, and pulling out what appeared to be a long, flat paper box. The edges were scuffed and the top appeared to have been pushed in at some point, but otherwise the box seemed to be more or less intact. "Everything you need in there," the vorcha informed her, carefully placing the slightly weather-beaten box in her outstretched hand. "Sand come carefully packaged. Keep contaminants out and product in." Retrieving her hand, Shepard opened the lid of the box, peering curiously inside. Inside the box, as the vorcha had told her, was what appeared to be a small, paper-wrapped and heat-sealed packet, filled with something oddly heavy that made a soft swishing noise when she lifted it. Along with the packet, the box contained a slim silver razor and what looked like a thinner variation on a human drinking straw.

Putting the lid back on the box, Shepard tucked it into the ammo satchel at her hip, instead turning her attention once more towards the vorcha, who was watching her with an unnerving sort of intensity. "Now you said you'd help me get past Cerberus," she reminded her, propping her hands impatiently on her hips. The vorcha nodded, still smiling that wide, unnerving smile of hers, before pointing upward towards the ceiling of the alleyway and making an indicative, circular finger motion.

"Cerberus no monitor ventilation systems," she told Shepard, seeming extremely pleased with her knowledge. "They think, too small to matter. No one with dignity use them. I say, dignity overrated." Then, beckoning for Shepard to follow her, she began to waddle towards a far corner of the alleyway, where a rickety-looking stack of shipping boxes had been shoved unceremoniously up against the wall.

"Come," she told her. "Come with me. I show you way in."

Approaching the ramshackle stack of boxes, the vorcha began to climb over them, making her way to the top of the pile. When she reached the top box, she reached up and began unscrewing two loose, bulky bolts that held a large, square vent in place. Shepard moved over to the stack of boxes, lifting a leg to start to climb up after the vorcha, but found that she could not bend over far enough to pull herself up. The vigilant tightness of her abdominal guard had secured the piece so rigidly against her middle that it made it nearly impossible for her to bend at the waist. Glancing back towards Zaeed, she waved him over, embarrassed, before making a quick, subtle motion upwards. "Help me up," she told him, her voice low. "I can't get up. Give me a lift."

"It's just a bitty box," Zaeed told her, frowning a bit. "What, one little box too much for the fearless Commander Shepard?"

"I'm… I can't… my suit is too tight," Shepard hissed, trying hard to fight back a hot, red blush. "I was in a hurry putting it on, and I accidentally… pulled the thing too rigid… just help me up, will you? And don't you dare mention this to anyone."

"All of my many friends," Zaeed muttered, reassuringly. Grabbing Shepard's elbow with one hand, he braced his other hand under her backside, giving her a starting push. With the first box scaled, Shepard found the rest to be much easier to climb, and before long, she had made her way to the top of the stack as well. The female vorcha peered down at her out of the opening, and when she saw that she was almost to the top, she offered a clawed hand to help her up into the vent shaft, which Shepard gladly accepted. With a hefty grunt, Shepard managed to pull herself up into the vent across from the vorcha, who sat staring at her for a moment, allowing her to catch her breath.

The vent was surprisingly roomy, wide enough for two slim people without armour to fit in the breadth shoulder-to-shoulder, and high enough that two normal-sized people like herself and the vorcha could sit upright and not worry about hitting their heads on the ceiling. Once Shepard had recovered from her climb, the vorcha leaned forward a bit, indicating herself with both gnarled hands. "My name Shreek," she told Shepard, helpfully.

Shepard frowned, wetting her lips as she took another deep breath, absentmindedly brushing her flyaway bangs out of her eyes. "I'm sorry, are you saying _Shriek_?" she asked, trying not to sound too taken aback by the vorcha's unusual title.

"Shreek," the vorcha corrected. " _Shreek_ , not Shriek. One a noise. One my name. Shreek."

"Shreek," Shepard repeated, nodding, deciding not to say anything about how, despite the vorcha's clarification, the two still sounded exactly the same to her. "Got it. But, Shreek, now that we're here, I have to ask… why are you helping me get past Cerberus? What do you have to gain from it?"

Shreek paused, fidgeting, as if trying to decide how much to say. The light coming upward from the opening in the ventilation shaft threw her mangled features into oddly gentle detail as she looked downward, letting out a low, quiet gurgle. "Used to have… eight children," she finally answered, tellingly. "Enemy of Cerberus a friend of mine."

"I'm… I'm sorry," Shepard told her, unsure of what else there was to say.

"It okay," Shreek replied, shrugging her armoured shoulders. "They good deaths. Died like soldiers. Very brave."

Nodding awkwardly in agreement to her statement, Shepard looked down through the opening in the shaft, to where Zaeed still stood in the alleyway, his gun poised awkwardly at rest against his shoulder. Leaning down as far as she could manage, Shepard held out a hand through the opening, waving it to get his attention. "Zaeed!" she called, trying not to attract too much attention past the merc's. "Come on up. It's not that far a climb. It's easy once you get past the first box or so."

Zaeed considered the offer, staring first at her hand, then at the opening, and then towards the length of the vent. Then, shaking his head, he holstered his hefty rifle in the maglock at his back. "There's no bloody way I'm gonna fit up in there," he grunted, frowning as he propped his tattooed hands on his armoured hips. "Not without banging about like a goddamn moron and alerting every Cerberus trooper from here to the Terminus."

Shepard gave a huff of breath, realizing that he was right, and disconcertedly retrieved her hand before turning to look back at Shreek, who was watching the two of them expectantly. "Any suggestions?" she asked.

Shreek sucked in through her sharp teeth, letting out a soft, gurgling noise as she thought. Then, "Take off clothes," she suggested.

"Take off your clothes," Shepard repeated, turning to look back at Zaeed.

"I'm not taking off my clothes," Zaeed insisted, frowning.

"He says he's not doing it," Shepard relayed back. Shreek made a face, before sighing, disappointed.

"Fine," she said, shortly. "Was worth a try. Tell him he be fine. Just take off knee guards. Vent big and thick. Won't make too much noise."

Shepard faltered, seriously considering asking Shreek if she had really just tried to get Zaeed to strip _just_ to see him do it, but then, deciding against it, Shepard instead turned back towards Zaeed, peering down at him through the opening in the vent shaft. "She says you'll be fine if you just take off your knee-guards," she told him. Then, reaching down her hand again, she offered him a reassuring smirk. "Coming up?" she asked, expectantly.

* * *

The longer they crawled through the ventilation shaft, the smaller it seemed to become. Though Shreek seemed to know where she was going, Shepard could not help but feel that it was taking them an unbearably long amount of time to get there. Shaking her now-sweaty bangs out of her eyes, Shepard craned her neck, trying to see past Shreek, and frowned when she could only see what looked to be a long, seemingly endless stretch of vent awaiting them up ahead. "Where are we going, Shreek?" she asked, trying not to sound too impatient but feeling her nerves starting to wear thin. She could feel herself sweating through her undersuit, making each forward motion more excruciating than the last.

"Old clinic," Shreek answered, matter-of-factly. "Well armed. Mechs keep Cerberus at bay for time being. Resistance group taking shelter there. Regrouping. Planning out course of action. Waiting for opportune moment to strike."

"And when is that, exactly?" Shepard asked.

"Not yet," Shreek answered her question, frankly. "But, with luck… soon." Then, turning her head to look back at Shepard over her shoulder, she offered the Commander another wide, toothy grin. "You get to meet my children!" she told her, sounding more enthusiastic now. "They part of resistance. Strapping boys! Stupid, too. But good boys. Youngest my only girl. Also fighting."

"All of your children are part of the resistance?" Shepard asked, frowning, using the momentary pause in movement to catch her breath a bit. "Aren't you afraid they'll be killed?"

At this, Shreek shrugged. "Vorcha killed all the time," she answered frankly, her passive tone almost unsettling. "Might as well die hero." Turning back, Shreek began to crawl again, and Shepard crawled after her, still not completely satisfied with her story.

"Do you have a mate, Shreek?" Shepard asked, morbidly curious. "Someone to help you take care of your children?"

"Several," Shreek told her, unfazed, continuing to crawl through the vent in front of her. "Would get bored otherwise. Though, they no help with brood. Men stupid. Not even know how to hold good conversation." Then, glancing over her shoulder again, she grinned, amused. "Why you ask?" she questioned, giving a short, sharp bark of a laugh. "You want one?"

"No, no," Shepard answered, shaking her head and giving a forced chuckle in return. "I'm good, thanks."

"Suit yourself," Shreek replied, turning back around and continuing to crawl again. "Vorcha lifespan twenty years. Twenty-two if you lucky. _Very_ lucky. Ask me, not worth being tied down to someone boring when life so short. Plus, having offspring with one mate not necessarily mean you stuck with him. For vorcha, pregnancy last less than four months. Very short. If mate no good, can move on quickly, or just get another." Reaching an intersection of channels, she stopped, thoughtful, before turning and continuing down a shaft leading to the right. "Females can have offspring five years old until death," she went on, factually. "Multiple mates common. Multiple children common, too. Sometimes multiples at once. In fact, _high_ rate of multiple births among vorcha."

At this, she glanced back towards Shepard over her shoulder. "You like twins?" she asked. "Triplets?"

"I wouldn't want to have them, myself," Shepard answered, truthfully. "But I like them, sure. Why?"

"My eldest a triplet," Shreek answered, pragmatic, turning back to face the upcoming vent corridor again. "Now he only one of his litter left. Next two were twins. And the next two. Last one single birth. Lucky girl. Spoiled rotten." Suddenly, she stopped, holding out a hand behind her to indicate for Shepard to stop as well. "Quiet!" she hissed. "You hear that?" Crouching low to the floor of the air vent, Shreek pressed her pointed ear to the cold metal, letting out a low, soft hiss as she listened to whatever it was she had heard below. Shepard bit her lip, holding her breath as she waited for Shreek to tell her what was going on below the vent, until finally, the vorcha lifted her head again, letting out a long, low, frustrated gurgling noise.

"Cerberus," she hissed. "Small unit. Two voices, maybe three. They no problem. We keep going."

"How much longer 'til we get to the place you're taking us?" Zaeed asked, losing patience. "I'm sweating my goddamn balls off back here."

"Would not be so hot if you took off clothes," Shreek told him, eliciting only an irked frown from Zaeed.

Stopping in her crawling, Shepard sat back against her heels, allowing Shreek to keep moving up ahead. Then, turning and looking back at Zaeed, she offered him an insufferably wry, knowing smirk. "I think Shreek is sweet on you, Zaeed," she teased him, careful to keep her voice low so as not to be overheard by their vorcha guide.

Zaeed scoffed, unimpressed, leaning an elbow against the side of the vent as he came to a stop behind her. "Shepard, I may be an old man, but I can still bloody well kill you," he warned her, badgered, wiping a thin film of sweat from his brow.

"But what about Zed?" Shepard whispered back, causing Zaeed to give a loud snort of laughter, his dour mood lifting instantly.

"We here!" Shreek called, her voice echoing back to them from the far end of the shaft. Looking up, Shepard gave a sigh of relief before starting towards the end of the vent where Shreek now sat. Reaching the designated exit point, she watched as Shreek banged three times, loudly, on the metal grill. Within seconds, the screws holding the grill in place had come undone, and the grill opened to reveal a large, open room below. Lowering herself down through the opening, Shreek dropped heavily to the floor, before looking back up towards the vent opening and beckoning for Shepard and Zaeed to follow suit. "Come!" she called. "It safe! Come down, meet resistance!"

"Ladies first," Zaeed remarked, jerking his chin pointedly towards the opening.

Bracing herself against the sides of the opening, Shepard cautiously lowered herself down into the room, grunting softly as she hit the ground, thankful that her boots had absorbed most of the shock of her landing. Zaeed was quick to follow, his landing much louder than hers, and no sooner had they regained their footing than he began to attach his knee-guards again, grumbling to himself about what a _bloody righteous disadvantage_ it was that he had had to take them off in the first place. "Cerberus troopers can kiss my ass," he muttered, locking the second knee-guard back into place. "Sneaking by like a scared dog, making me strip down like this… look at this, I'm basically naked." Shaking his head, he slapped each knee-guard with the brunt of his palm, making sure they were locked securely in place, before letting out another dissatisfied grunt.

"Goddamned shameful," he muttered. "Undignified."

"You'll live," Shepard teased him again, causing him to give another grunt of disapproval.

"Commander Shepard."

Shepard looked up quickly, surprised at having been addressed by name, and found herself facing a room of rag-tag alien soldiers, with a familiar, unmarked turian at the head of the group. The turian took a step forward towards her, stashing his weapon in the maglock at his back, before offering her a familiar, greeting jerk of his chin, his mandibles giving a reassured twitch. "It's good to see a familiar face," he told her. "With Cerberus chasing most of our allies off-station, those are getting harder and harder to come by."

"Captain Gavorn," Shepard returned, surprised, giving him her full, undivided attention. "I didn't expect to find you here. Why didn't you leave when Cerberus first invaded?"

"Stubbornness," Gavorn answered, honestly. "Foolhardy stubbornness. And pride. Daniel and I thought we'd be able to fight them off if they tried to come after us." He fell silent, his mandibles twitching uncomfortably as his yellow gaze dropped tellingly to a low spot on the far wall. "They, uh… they didn't like that," he told her, clearing his throat, his voice wavering. "They came and they… shot Daniel in the head. Execution style. Told me to beat it or I'd be next." Lifting his eyes to her face again, he swallowed back a lump in his throat, his mandibles giving another short quiver. "But I'm still here," he told her. "I didn't leave. And now we're fighting back. All of us."

Shepard paused, not entirely sure how to respond to this information. Finally, she asked, "Daniel was your…?"

"My boyfriend," Gavorn clarified, lifting his chin. "My fiancée… technically."

"I'm… I'm sorry to hear that," Shepard told him, delicately, unsure what else there was to say.

"It's not your fault, Commander," Gavorn assured her, shrugging. "To be honest, I wasn't expecting someone of your calibre to take an interest in our cause at _all_. Omega isn't exactly a huge priority, as far as the grand scheme of the galaxy goes. Some people might take us for a lost cause, even before Cerberus came knocking at our door."

"Then they'd be right," another member of the resistance answered, taking a step forward to stand beside Gavorn. This one was also a turian, but her slim figure and higher-pitched voice made it obvious that she was a female, even if Shepard could not see the face hidden under her heavy black hood. "Omega is a pisshole. We've left it unattended for too long and the rot has permeated through every orifice. If Cerberus hadn't annexed us, somebody else likely would have. Our resources were all wasted fighting one another. We didn't stand a chance when somebody else came looking to invade."

"Commander, this is Nyreen Kandros," Gavorn told Shepard, ignoring the female turian's comment as he indicated towards her with one half-attentive hand. "I assume you two haven't already been acquainted."

"We haven't met, no," Shepard agreed, turning her attention to Nyreen, who was already staring at her intently with her slitted yellow-green eyes.

"Oh, no, we haven't," Nyreen told her, giving her a wry once-over. "But I know all about you. Aria's told me _all_ about the famous Commander Shepard."

"You know Aria?" Shepard asked, raising her brows, interested.

Nyreen paused, thoughtful, before a catty, sardonic grin curled the edges of her mouth tellingly upward. "I might," she answered, drolly.

"So wait," Shepard said, confused. "Are you two…" She faltered, unsure of how to word her question, before making a short, indicative motion connecting Nyreen and Gavorn. "…A thing?" she asked, awkwardly. Gavorn and Nyreen looked surprised, exchanging glances, before Gavorn quickly shook his head.

"Just a team of convenience, Commander," he informed her. "Nothing more. Anyway, I'm pretty sure she's not even into men to begin with."

"Only you, Gavorn," Nyreen joked, causing Gavorn to give a short, uncomfortable laugh.

"Sorry," Shepard apologized, holding up her hands again. "Didn't mean to… y'know, offend."

"Don't worry, Commander," Nyreen answered, looking up at her with a puckish smirk. "I'll tell you if you're being offensive."

"She will, too," Gavorn put in, jerking his head in Nyreen's direction. "She's been doing it to my men all day."

"Well, if your men weren't offensive _all the time_ , they wouldn't need correcting," Nyreen returned, the forced good humour in her voice starting to slowly devolve into venom. "Cause and effect, Gavorn."

"Anyway, Nyreen's been a big name in the underworld here on Omega these past few years," Gavorn went on, returning to the original line of conversation. "Maybe you've heard of the Talons? They were pretty huge around the time period just before the Reaper invasion began."

"Can't say I have, sorry," Shepard answered, truthfully. "But, then again, I was out of commission for about six months leading up to the invasion, so I'm sure I missed a lot."

"I'll say," Nyreen agreed, pointedly.

"Well, that was her major group," Gavorn said, sighing. "I think she was also turian military at one point. Other than that, she ran a vigilante unit or two… went underground for a little bit during the whole Archangel fiasco, but her groups were pretty active for a while after he disappeared."

"Just doing some standard cleaning up," Nyreen answered, shrugging, turning her attention back to Gavorn. "Spirits know your team needed the help. And stop referring to me in the past tense. 'Been' a big name, 'ran' a vigilante group… you'd think I'd died or something." Smirking, she hiked her weapon up against her hip, clicking the cool, full heat sink into place, causing the weapon to whine at the ready. "Not dead yet," she added, assuredly.

Gavorn raised his plated brows, clearing his throat at having been corrected, before turning his attention back to Shepard again, only momentarily fazed. "Clearly, not my first choice in a partner," he told her, trying to make light of the situation. "But beggars, choosers… when Cerberus is knocking at your door you can't exactly stand to be picky. Gotta take whatever help you can get."

"Tell me about it," muttered Nyreen, barely bothering to keep her voice down.

"I could use some help, actually," Shepard commented, capitalizing on the turn of conversation, causing both Gavorn and Nyreen to look at her, attentively. "I actually came here with Aria, but we got separated somehow. I was hoping you could help me find her, or help me get to Cerberus' main base of operations. If nothing else I think we'd be sure to meet up with her there."

"Aria?" Nyreen asked, giving a darkly amused huff of breath at the request. "If I know Aria, she's probably already headed into the tunnels. Those were her big secret. Used them anytime things got too hot to handle. Saved her life more than a couple times… mine, too." Pushing back her hood, Nyreen frowned, thoughtful, before looking up at Shepard again, the self-assured good humour seeming to have left her. "We should probably get down there," she said, sounding suddenly concerned. "Cerberus never discovered those tunnels, but I'm pretty sure something else did. Something Aria doesn't know about. She doesn't know what's waiting for her down there."

"I guess we're about to find out what that is," Shepard answered, pulling her own gun from its maglock and nodding towards the weapon still resting keenly on Nyreen's hip. "Ready to put that gun to good use?"

At this, Nyreen smirked, pulling up her gun and holding it eagerly at the ready. "You have no idea," she replied.


	15. WEEK ELEVEN, Pt.2

The housing area not far from the clinic had been abandoned, the inhabitants apparently having left so quickly that almost everything was still in place, as if just waiting for them to return. The doors had been left unlocked, the inviting green sensor lights flickering eerily from the fronts of several housefronts as they passed. A large, decorative potted plant had been knocked over in front of one of the housefronts, causing the space-sensitive automatic front door to open, begin to close, and then open again when the weight sensor reactivated, over and over and over. "Cerberus won't come here," Nyreen told Shepard, apparently noticing her looking around, bewildered at the state of the neighbourhood. "They had an easy enough time chasing all the innocent people out of the housing area, but they didn't expect to be met with resistance at the clinic."

"Seems strange they wouldn't try at all," Shepard returned, frowning. "I've never really known Cerberus to give up easily."

"Nobody said they gave up easily," Nyreen assured her, shaking her head. "Sometimes you'll see one or two of them sneaking around, trying to figure out if there's some weakness in our defences or some way around the security mechs. For the most part, though, they figure we're not really worth their time. There's only about a hundred or so of us, and hundreds upon hundreds of them. If they wanted to blitz us, they probably could. They just don't want to waste the manpower."

"So what about these tunnels?" Shepard asked, readjusting her gun in her arms. "Does Cerberus monitor them very closely?"

"No, not at all," Nyreen answered, frankly. "They're afraid to. And for good reason. There's things down there that could probably do your worst nightmares justice."

"I dunno," Shepard returned, sceptical, raising a brow. "I've had some pretty messed up nightmares."

With Nyreen to guide them through the winding streets of the housing sector, it took very little time at all for them to reach the double-doors leading to the outside areas. Grabbing hold of one of the doors, Nyreen jerked her head towards the other side, indicating for Shepard to grab hold, too. With both of them working to pry the doors apart, they managed to inch them open, Nyreen using her shoulders and foot to push the heavy doors as wide as she could manage to allow Shepard and Zaeed to pass through. Then, once they were safely outside, she stepped out of the doorframe as well, letting the doors slam shut behind her, sealing off the housing area once again. "Cerberus probably heard that," Nyreen sighed, bringing her gun up, ready to use it. "Be on your guard. They can come from just about anywhere, and they're damn mean."

"You don't have to tell me," Shepard assured her, making a quick look around for Cerberus troopers. Just then, out of nowhere, a single shot flew past her head, exploding against the nearby wall in a burst of heated plasma, and Shepard ducked, just barely managing to miss having part of her ear taken off by the bullet.

"Take cover!" Nyreen shouted, ducking behind a nearby stack of metal crates and pulling her gun up to her chest, ready to use it. "Cerberus troopers!"

"I kind of figured as much!" Shepard shouted back, taking shelter behind another nearby stack of abandoned metal crates. Leaning around the side, she fired blindly towards the source of the gunfire, hearing the satisfying sound of a muffled grunt as one of her shots hit its mark. Rolling out from behind her cover, Nyreen opened fire on the troopers, moving as quickly as she could towards a large, round set of double-doors on the far end of the open area.

"Shepard!" she called, kneeling down behind a large, curved pipe to avoid being shot. Propping her weapon over the top of the piping, she returned fire, gasping and ducking down as a plasma bullet grazed the top of the pipe, barely missing her arm. "Shepard over this way!" she shouted. "The tunnels are just through these doors! Cover me and I'll get them open!"

"Shit," Shepard hissed, peering around the side of the crates to see what was going on. Then, ducking back again, she reached over, tapping Zaeed on the arm to get his attention. "You take the left flank," she told him, pointing. "I'll take the right. We just need to distract them and not get shot long enough for Nyreen to get the doors open."

"Not getting shot sounds like a good plan," Zaeed agreed, before moving out from behind the crates and opening fire on Cerberus. Realizing her cue, Shepard moved out as well, spraying a hail of bullets across the open area where the troopers stood as she ran towards the huge double-doors. Nyreen had turned her back to the fight, her gun tucked haphazardly into her belt as she attempted to override the security panel just outside the door. Flanking her, Shepard and Zaeed opened fire again, focusing on the troopers closest to the doors first before turning their attention to the ones further away. After what seemed like an eternity of close-call gunfire, the security panel gave a loud _beep_ , and the double-door responded with a loud, shuddering _bang_ , followed by a whirring noise as they slowly began to inch open.

"In here!" Nyreen called, running towards the now-open corridor and motioning for the two of them to follow her. "Quickly! Come on!"

Taking one last shot over her shoulder, Shepard made a run for the open door, diving and attempting to tuck and roll, but managed only to roll over her head and land flat on her back with a hiss of discomfort as her spine smacked, hard, against the concrete flooring. Running over to her, Zaeed grabbed her by the forearm, pulling her to her feet again, and Shepard quickly dusted herself off, hoping Nyreen had not seen her embarrassing display of ineptitude. Rushing to the security panel on the inside of the double-doors, Nyreen tapped in a quick combination, and the door froze, whirring angrily, before starting to close again, sealing them inside with another finalistic, deafening _bang_. Letting out a long, low breath, Nyreen turned away from the double-doors, taking her gun from her belt and stashing it more securely in its holster before looking up at Shepard and Zaeed, who were both still struggling to catch their breath.

"Well, that was exciting," she commented, dryly. "But now Cerberus knows about these tunnels. Great." She sighed, putting a frustrated hand to her head, and left it there for a moment before shaking her head and letting her hand drop back to her side again. "At least we're safe from them for the time being," she added, trying to sound at least moderately positive. "And with any luck, they won't be able to figure out how to get in until we're long gone." Crossing her arms, she looked back towards the doors, as if expecting Cerberus to burst through at any moment, but, when they remained sturdily silent, she looked away again, her gaze returning to Shepard and Zaeed.

"We should get moving, I guess," she said. "We still need to find Aria, and I don't know how much time we have to do it." Crossing the open corridor, she moved to the far end of the room, where a second set of round double-doors, these much smaller than the first, had been built into the solid wall. They appeared rusted around the edges, as if no one had used them in quite some time. "Come help me with this," Nyreen told them. "These tunnels haven't been used in years, so the door's a little bit…" She grunted, attempting to pull them apart. "…Sticky," she finished, giving a frustrated huff of breath.

"You know these tunnels well, I take it?" Shepard asked, moving over and taking hold of the other side of the double-doors. Grunting, she pulled her designated door back towards her, hearing the metal give a scraping shriek of protest as the doors began to slowly inch apart.

"Not necessarily," Nyreen admitted, giving another hard yank on her side of the double-doors, causing them to pull apart a little further. "I've only been here a couple times. Mostly I came down here with Aria. She was the one who showed me the tunnels."

"You've been here more times than me, at least," Shepard assured her, letting out a deep, mollified breath as the doors scraped far enough apart for the three of them to squeeze through, dropping down into the dark adjoining corridor. "I didn't even know these were here."

Pulling out her gun, Nyreen switched on her light, taking a quick look around before starting down the gridded metal walkway, her footsteps echoing eerily in the empty, cavernous mine shaft. "There was a time when these mines were the most lucrative source of trade output on Omega," she told Shepard, half-distracted as she looked around, her slitted pupils dilated, cat-like, in the near-darkness. "Before they all ran dry and had to be shut down. They warned the mining companies they were working too fast and too hard… they told them to slow down, pace themselves, wait for other businesses to open up that coincided with the mining trade. They warned them that, if they didn't slow down, once the minerals were gone, that was it for the miners. They couldn't transition to other jobs they were similarly qualified for, because there _was_ nothing else."

Reaching a corner of the catwalk, Nyreen peered around it, quickly scanning the upcoming walkway before taking a few cautious steps forward, Shepard following along behind her, intrigued. "But, they were greedy," she sighed, continuing on. "They didn't listen, and as a result they mined Omega all but barren. Then the fat cats who were making all the profit off the mines went off-world to find another investment, while the now out-of-work miners were left to fend for themselves. Most of them turned to crime… drug trafficking, mercenary work, anything that would put credits in their bank accounts, food on their tables. A lot of them had families to support. But, that's always been the way it is on Omega, I guess… every man for himself."

"That's terrible," Shepard commented, frowning.

"Kind of," Nyreen agreed, noncommittal. "But, that was a long time ago. These days, most people have forgotten about the mines, and why Omega is the way it is. They've just kind of… come to accept it." She sighed, her mandibles tapping gently against her tapered chin as she glanced behind them, making sure they were not being followed, before turning her attention forward again. "That's one thing I'd like to change around here, if possible," she said, shaking her head, thoughtful. "Maybe once Cerberus has been chased off Omega, we can start this place over again, fresh. Bring in some legitimate businesses, maybe figure out a new resource we can export that isn't red sand. Crime has become the norm on this station, and it's destroying everything it touches. Archangel had the right idea when he waged his war against the gangs. It's time someone tried to clean up these streets."

"You knew Archangel?" Shepard asked, surprised, looking over at Nyreen again.

"Not personally," Nyreen answered, shrugging a bit, sheepishly. "I mean… I'd heard stories about him, but… I never got to meet him in person. It's really too bad he got killed. I would have liked to have met him someday. Guess it's way too late for that now."

"Yeah," Shepard agreed awkwardly, looking away again, unsure what else there was to say. Just then, the whine of a weapon heating up caught her attention, and she turned, training her own gun on whoever – or whatever – it was that was aiming at them in the darkness.

"Drop your weapons!" the assailant demanded, as all three of their lights came to rest on her. It did not take long for them to realize who it was they were facing, and Shepard quickly dropped her weapon willingly to her side. Seeing who it was, Nyreen quickly lowered her weapon as well, clicking off the light and letting out a thin, incredulous breath of a laugh.

"Spirits," she said, sounding relieved. "Aria T'Loak. It really _is_ you."

"Nyreen," Aria returned, seeming surprised. Then, lowering her own weapon, she scoffed, trying to cover for her momentary lapse of coolheadedness. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Playing cat-and-mouse, mostly," Nyreen answered frankly, shrugging a bit. "Babysitting Gavorn and his crew. Just trying to stay alive."

"Gavorn," Aria muttered, blowing out an unimpressed huff of breath. "His so-called police force is a joke. How did you get stuck with him?"

"Well, who else was I going to team up with when Cerberus took over the station?" Nyreen answered, pointedly, cocking her head to one side. "You weren't anywhere to be found… conveniently."

"Don't start with me, Nyreen," Aria returned, her frown deepening. "You know they would have killed me if I hadn't gotten out when I did. I posed too much of a threat to them."

"Right," Nyreen answered, deadpan. "They were the ones running scared. From you."

"Yes, speaking of running," Aria commented, allowing herself to take the lead in the conversation once more as she tucked her weapon back into the holster at her belt. "Nyreen, you left Omega fairly angry with me… I wasn't aware you'd returned. When did that happen?"

Nyreen shrugged, nonplussed. "The truth is, I never left," she answered, simply. "In fact, I went to great lengths to keep from you."

"I'm not easily duped," Aria told her, crossing her arms. "So, well done, I guess… but why bother?"

"I just… couldn't leave," Nyreen answered truthfully, shaking her head. "Though, considering all this… I wish I had."

"Well," Aria returned, smirking, unamused, "you always said I'd be the death of you."

"So why are _you_ back, Aria?" Nyreen asked, trying to turn the conversation away from herself once more.

"To reclaim what's mine," Aria told her, straightforwardly. "Plain and simple."

"Left something behind, I take it?" Nyreen asked, cattily.

"Not something," Aria told her, shaking her head. "Everything."

"And here I thought you were setting up to say something romantic," Nyreen chuckled, shaking her head. "I should have known better. Same old Aria. Never manages to spot the perfect opportunity, even when it bites her in the ass."

"I still have a scar from that, you know," Aria returned, nonplussed. "You should have warned me how sharp your teeth were."

"Awh," Nyreen answered, offering her a small, fake pout. "The great big bad monarch of Omega can't stand a little bit of nibbling? Poor thing. Next time I'll bring the first aid kit and patch it up before it starts to bleed."

"I like it when it bleeds," Aria told her, smirking. "Just next time, do it someplace where I don't have to sit on it while it's healing."

"I think I don't need to know this about either of you," Shepard commented, feeling extremely out of place in the middle of the conversation.

"You seem very quick to trust Nyreen here, Shepard," Aria commented pointedly, turning on Shepard now. "You two didn't even know each other before this little… escapade. What changed?" Her smirk widened then, one tattooed brow raising observantly. "Did she give you a little _demonstration_ of her _skills_?" she asked, her voice barely above an amused hiss. "She's very good with her… pistol."

"You love it when I use my pistol," Nyreen purred contentedly, grinning, in on the joke.

Aria chuckled, enjoying their little tête-à-tête, then, taking a sharp breath, she turned away from Nyreen and towards Shepard again, cutting the conversation short. "All right, Shepard, we need to move fast," she said, speaking as if they had never gotten separated in the first place. "Cerberus is closing in quickly and I'm itching for revenge."

"If you think I'm gonna let you carve a bloody path through this campaign, you're sadly mistaken," Shepard told her, frowning as she crossed her arms, unimpressed. "We need a plan. A _real_ plan this time. No more of your 'shoot first, ask questions later' ideas."

Aria scoffed, offering her an incredulous breath of a laugh in return. "If you think you're going to change the way I do things, Shepard," she answered, unfazed by the Commander's do-gooder heroism. "Well…" Dusting off her hands, she shrugged, giving Shepard a telling once-over before turning away from her and back towards Nyreen again, blocking Shepard out. "We're going to need a resistance," she said, now ignoring Shepard in lieu of the turian soldier. "And a base."

"There's already a resistance," Nyreen informed her, frowning a bit. "And we've already got a base. It's in Mordin Solus's old clinic, in the station's underbelly. The whole place is defended by a small army of unhackable mechs that were left there when the clinic was abandoned. Talons, mercs, vorcha gangs, Gavorn's men… even Patriarch, Grizz, and Harrot are there, all banding together to take on Cerberus."

"What happened to the mad prophet?" Aria asked, crossing her arms, concerned. "Is he still around anywhere?"

"I don't know what happened to him," Nyreen answered truthfully, shrugging. "I think he managed to escape off-world, but I'm not sure. Either way, what I'm trying to say is, this isn't just your home, Aria. It's their home, too. It's _our_ home. All of us."

"It may be your home," Aria returned, flatly, unimpressed by Nyreen's feel-good speech. "But it's my kingdom. I'm the queen of Omega, and that rat bastard Petrovsky is sitting on my throne."

Just then, a guttural, howling noise echoed up from the darkness of the mine shaft, faint enough to let them know it was not yet upon them, but still loud enough to cause all four to take a step back and make a grab for their weapons. "What was that?" Shepard demanded, quickly pressing her loaded heat sink into place. The Marauder whined, the red buttons on the side lighting up to show it was properly loaded, but Nyreen merely sighed, dropping her uneasy stance and instead lifting her gun to rest it tiredly against her shoulder.

"Adjutants," she answered, sounding almost disappointed.

At this, Aria's eyes widened. "They got out?" she hissed, clutching her gun closer to her chest, anxious. " _Shit_."

"They got out all right," Nyreen told her, solemnly, turning to look at her. "It got worse after you left, Aria. Much worse. Cerberus couldn't control them. They ran wild through the streets until finally making their way into the abandoned tunnels. Now they prey on anyone stupid – or desperate – enough to come down here."

"Which means us," Aria replied, letting out a low, dark breath.

"Which means anyone trying to hide from Cerberus," Nyreen told her. "Omega is a nightmare, Aria. You're stuck between a rock and a hard place no matter what you do. Either you die fighting, or you die hiding from the fight."

"What are Adjutants?" Shepard asked, looking between Nyreen and Aria curiously.

"They're creatures created by Cerberus," Aria explained, clearly irritated by the mere thought of them. "They let them loose on the station not long after you destroyed the Alpha Relay."

"Likely while you were still on suspension," Nyreen added, and Shepard nodded, agreeing, before turning her attention back to Aria again.

"A Cerberus transport ship returning from one of their research bases beyond the Omega-4 Relay docked with Omega a few months back," Aria went on, resting her free hand frustratedly on her hip. "Somehow they managed to release dozens of these things, these… Adjutants, onto the station. The creatures then proceeded to attack everything in sight, including Club Afterlife."

"I bet you were _real_ happy about that," Shepard said, letting out an incredulous, sympathetic breath.

"You can only imagine," Aria returned, darkly. "It was only later on, after I'd been chased out of Afterlife, that I learned that those _idiots_ had been keeping a colony of Adjutants in a research base near Avernus Station, right outside the Omega-4 Relay. It seems those two-bit morons couldn't keep a leash on their own experiments, and somehow these things had managed to get loose and fly themselves all the way to Omega using the base's transport ships." She scoffed, turning her gaze away from Shepard and pursing her plum lips, frustrated. "Petrovsky and I hit the Station," she told her, letting out a soft, derisive snort at her own stupidity. "I thought, if I helped Cerberus to contain the problem… but no. As it turns out, I was the fool after all. Cerberus didn't care about their Station. They wanted Omega."

Shaking her head, her gaze dropped to the floor, angry and ashamed. "The Adjutants… the Illusive Man set them loose on purpose so Cerberus could take over Omega," she said. "And I fell for it."

"The Adjutants are dangerous creatures, Commander," Nyreen told her sternly, stepping forward to get Shepard's full attention. "They're a walking, breathing contagion device. Their bodily fluids have been replaced with this blue…" She made a face, trying to think of a word for it. "Solution," she finally settled.

"Goop," Aria corrected.

"It's not really _goop_ ," Nyreen returned, crossing her arms, thoughtful. "It's more… it's got the consistency of milk, almost. Thicker than blood, but…"

"Goop," Aria said again, sterner this time. "It's goop."

"Fine, goop," Nyreen conceded, sighing. "It's been replaced with this blue goop, and if they stick you with one of their needles—"

"In their fingers," Aria added, holding up a hand and wriggling her own fingers for emphasis.

"Right, or spray this junk on you, you get infected," Nyreen explained, frankly. "They have a sac of the stuff on their back that's constantly producing more of it anytime some gets depleted. They have to relieve it almost constantly, otherwise the sac gets overfull and has a tendency to pop."

"Not pretty," Aria commented. "Also very messy."

"And dangerous," Nyreen added. "If an Adjutant's sac pops and it gets in your mouth or eyes, you're done for. That solution is highly aggressive and will start multiplying as soon as it comes in contact with living cells in a wet environment, so your eyes, mouth, any open wounds…"

"So like a zombie virus," Shepard conceded, nodding. "I think I get it."

"Right, but these guys are fast," Nyreen told her, warningly. "A lot faster than zombies would be. And they leak, too, so watch where you step. Like I said, they expel that nasty blue stuff almost constantly. I've seen good, trained soldiers who weren't looking where they were going slip and fall on this stuff and get overpowered in no time flat."

"Is there any way to stop it?" Shepard asked, frowning, liking the idea of these creatures less and less the more she heard about them. "The transformation?"

"No," Aria answered firmly, shaking her head. "There's no way to stop the infection from spreading if it gets in a vulnerable area, and the only way to stop the transformation from occurring is to kill the infected person. Adjutants… their main goal is to transform other life forms, to make more of themselves. They'll more often than not try to avoid outright killing their prey since the dead are useless to them." Then, taking a few steps forward towards Shepard, she reached out a hand, placing it sternly on the Commander's shoulder. "Shepard," she told her. "If I get infected by these things, I want you to shoot me. No questions asked. Do you hear me? Do _not_ let me become one of those creatures."

"I won't," Shepard promised.

"Good," Aria returned, retrieving her hand and moving away again, wiping her palm off on the material of her pants as if she had touched something unsavoury. "Let's get moving, then, shall we?"

"Lights on," Nyreen agreed, switching the bright white light of her weapon back into life.

* * *

The deeper they went into the tunnels, the darker it seemed to become. Even the strong white beams coming from all four of their guns did not do nearly enough to light a sufficient path. Shepard stumbled over something in her path, catching herself before she fell, and looked back to see what she had tripped over. She quickly recognized the armour to be that of a Cerberus trooper, his bloody body haphazardly strewn across the path, his leg bent at an unnatural angle up towards the side of his body. A clatter caught her attention then, and she turned her light beam towards the edge of the catwalk, where a helmet had rolled to rest against the metal piping of the rail. Nudging the helmet with her foot, she managed to kick it over, and her hand moved quickly to cover her mouth when the helmet slid off to one side to reveal a decapitated head underneath.

A bluish-black, almost rot-like paste had overtaken half of his face, or at least that which was not covered in large, sickly-looking blue pustules. His black tongue had swollen out of his open mouth, revealing what looked to be several bright blue, tentacle-like growths coming out of it, and his eyes had rolled back into his head, revealing black veins creeping up through the exposed whites. Shepard staggered quickly away from the carnage, banging up against the opposite railing in her haste, using her free hand to cover her mouth and nose. Zaeed moved over to her, offering her a silent expression of concern, but, after a moment, she patted him awkwardly on the arm, nodding reassuringly as she tried to swallow down the lump of bile that was still threatening to come up.

Aria and Nyreen stopped as well, turning to look back at Shepard, confused, before Aria's light came to rest on the decapitated head, and she let out a dark, unamused huff of breath. "Adjutants," she muttered, before moving over to the head and kicking it over the side of the catwalk. The skull echoed all the way down as it hit railing after railing, the sickening squishing noise of the flesh hitting the metal finally dying away as it sank lower and lower into the pits of the mines. Suddenly, as if on cue, another howl echoed up out of the darkness, closer this time, causing all four of them to jump to attention again, grabbing up their weapons and holding them at the ready.

"Fucking pricks," Aria hissed, baring her teeth in frustration. "Why don't they show themselves? Cowards. I'll take 'em all down."

"Don't be foolhardy," Nyreen reminded her. "We aren't here to find Adjutants."

"I know, I know," Aria returned, snippy. "No need to get on my back about it. I just wish they'd stop playing games with us. It's pissing me off."

"Everything pisses you off," Nyreen muttered, eliciting a sideways glare from Aria, but nothing else.

"So what's the plan?" Shepard asked, feeling a bit like a broken record. "Now that we're here in the mining tunnels—"

"If we play our cards right, we should be able to take these tunnels right up to underneath Afterlife," Aria said, cutting her off and jerking her gun towards the unseen, black ceiling of the mining shaft. "Then we can take Petrovsky by surprise… and whoever else is up there with him."

"Do you know how to get there from here?" Zaeed asked, tapping his fingers against his gun, causing it to give a soft, anxious clicking noise.

"It's a pretty straightforward path," Aria answered, frankly. "If we can make it to the central point of the tunnels, there's an elevator that goes straight up through the heart of the station. If I remember correctly, that should take us to a room directly below the lower level of Afterlife. After that, it's only a matter of getting to the top floor, which… with any luck, shouldn't be too difficult."

"We shouldn't leave anything up to luck," Shepard reminded her, trying not to appear too on edge. "Let's just concentrate on getting one thing out of the way at a time. First things first, let's try to find that elevator."

"The elevator starts at the bottom and stops at the top," Aria told her, jerking her gun again, indicatively. "We'll need to get to the bottom of these tunnels if we want to take the elevator. They built it that way to increase efficiency – the more the workers dug, the lower they built the elevator shaft. Either you were going up, or down. No unnecessary stops along the way." Turning on her heel, her beam of light swung in a wide arc, taking in the huge, empty maze of gridiron walkways. "These catwalks were built as the workers moved downward, to help them move the product along more efficiently," she explained. "Eventually the mine started needing so much power to keep it lit that they became fallback exits should the power ever go out in the middle of a work day. Just, use the ladders and catwalks to climb back to the secondary mine entrance." Here, she nodded solemnly back towards the way they had come. "That's where we came in," she said. "But there's no catwalk to take us to Afterlife. To get there, we have to use the elevator."

"Of course," Shepard sighed. "And in order to get to the elevator, we have to go down into the deep, dark pit."

"Don't tell me the great Commander Shepard is _scared_ ," Aria scoffed, resting her gun confidently against her shoulder. "Surely you've faced worse than a few little Adjutants before."

"Not scared," Shepard corrected her, looking up at her, tiredly. "Just…"

"She doesn't like ladders," Zaeed finished her statement. "Or stairs. Or anything else that requires climbing. Or crouching. Or ducking and rolling."

"Basically," Shepard agreed.

"Well, suck it up," Aria returned, unimpressed. "Once we get to the bottom of the shaft the ladders are going to be the least of your problems."

"Somehow I doubt that," Shepard sighed, just loud enough for Zaeed to hear.

"Let's move out," Aria announced, settling her weapon into a ready position again. "The sooner we get down there, the sooner we can take back Afterlife… and the rest of Omega with it."

"After you," Zaeed told Shepard, indicating towards the first ladder with his gun.

* * *

"The elevator should be just through that door."

Aria jerked her chin towards the far wall, where a pair of sealed double-doors could just be made out by the light from her pistol. Shepard lifted her weapon, shining her light over the doors as well. She frowned, noting the lack of any sort of lighting on or around them, before dropping her weapon to hip level again and turning her attention back towards Aria. "Looks deactivated," she told her, bluntly. "Looks like it's been deactivated for a while. A few years, at least."

"Then we need to power this place up," Aria answered, simply, turning her attention away from the elevator to take a quick look around the room. "There should be a backup generator somewhere around here."

"Probably somewhere near the end of this piping," Nyreen added, pointing to a string of dim red lights trailing indicatively across a nearby wall. "That emergency lighting is as good a sign as any. They probably had it installed in case the main generator shorted out while the miners were at work, so they wouldn't be left completely in the dark."

"Nobody gave a damn about the miners," Aria scoffed, shaking her head as she neared the string of lights. "If the power went off, that just meant the miners couldn't see, and if they couldn't see, they couldn't work. Which seems like it would be a pretty standard state of affairs, but it didn't take long for the miners to realize that hardly anybody in charge of the operation wanted to bother getting their hands dirty checking up on them, and before long, the miners got lazy." She shrugged, a faint sneer curling her lip as she stared at the dim red lighting along the wall. "A lot of them would claim the lights went out just so they wouldn't have to do a full day's work, but still get paid for it," she added. "The emergency lighting was installed as a way to ensure they couldn't slack off. It meant that, even if the lights did go out, there was no reason they couldn't find their way over to the backup generator to turn them back on again. It was a precautionary measure to ensure cashflow."

"Sounds like Omega," Zaeed agreed, snorting.

"Let's follow the lights, then," Shepard said, starting in the direction the dim red glow was leading. The rest of the party followed close behind her, the beams from their weapons scanning the walls and the catwalk for Adjutants, with Zaeed's weapon trained behind them to make sure they were not being followed. The emergency lights led up a steep ramp and through an open door frame, before leading off across a small chasm lined with thick, metal pipes. Stepping cautiously out onto the piping, Shepard jumped across, landing squarely on the opposite catwalk, and waited for the sound of her companions behind her before starting off after the string of lights again. Spotting a high step-up up ahead, she fell back a bit, letting the rest of the party move in front of her, before tapping Zaeed's arm with the back of her hand and indicating the uneven walkway.

"I need some help," she whispered, careful to keep her voice low enough that neither Aria nor Nyreen would hear. The last thing she needed was Aria getting on her case for not being able to scale a waist-high gap. Pulling himself up onto the ledge, Zaeed turned back, offering his free hand towards Shepard, who took it, appreciatively, allowing him to help her to drag herself up with a soft, belligerent grunt. Once she was successfully up on the ledge, she patted his shoulder, grateful, before letting out a hefty, tired huff of breath and returning her attention to the path ahead. The emergency lights led up a small flight of stairs, ending in another open doorway lined on all sides with reflective yellow caution tape.

"I don't hear the Adjutant anymore," Nyreen commented, pausing to look around at the dark hall, wary.

"Maybe it didn't like its odds," Shepard suggested, panning her light across the catwalk, looking for the generator.

Nyreen shook her head. "Don't kid yourself, Commander," she told her, following Shepard through the open doorframe. "I've seen one of those things take down a squad of soldiers."

"The backup generator should be just down that ladder," Aria cut in, pointing ahead towards a sharp drop-off, where the broad, hooked handles of a downward-leading ladder could just be seen peering over the edge of the catwalk. Taking the lead of the party once more, Shepard stashed her weapon on her back, turning and grabbing hold of the ladder's handles before letting herself slide all the way down, landing with a sharp _clack_ as her boots hit the concrete floor. Stepping out of the way to allow her party to follow, Shepard scanned the area, kicking a pile of coiled cables out of her way as she moved warily into the room.

"There's the power control," Nyreen said, jerking her gun towards a broad, metal station at the far end of the chamber, where a single large, red button glowed out at them from the centre. "Seems simple enough to turn back on."

"I told you," Aria commented, shaking her head, unimpressed. "They made it so the miners would have literally no reason not to be able to keep working."

Making her way to the control panel, Shepard wasted no time in slamming a fist down into the red button, causing the machine to beep attentively, and then whine, the whining growing louder as the generator powered to life. A screen on the console flickered on, showing a series of unmarked graphs, before several rows of smaller buttons blinked into life in a yellow-white wave of light. Aria looked around at the now-lit room, making a face at the state of untended disrepair it seemed to be in, before sighing, disapproving, and shaking her head again.

"When this is over, there will be a lot of repairs to make," she said, candidly.

"I hope you'll focus on the civilian areas first," Nyreen told her, turning to look at her, pointedly.

Aria scoffed, turning to face her and giving her a quick once-over. "You are relentless," she said, sounding not altogether disapproving.

Nyreen took a step forward, facing off with the asari, a soft, almost challenging purr rising in the back of her throat. "That's one thing we have in common," she answered, drolly. Aria smirked.

Just then, the seemingly solid wall of the control room exploded inward, a deafening shriek filling the room as the attacking Adjutant righted itself from the dust and rubble. "Spirits!" Nyreen exclaimed, grabbing quickly for her gun and beginning to fire. Zaeed took cover behind a large motherboard panel, while Aria ducked behind the edge of the control console, peering around just far enough to take a few well-aimed shots at the creature, but Shepard was not fast enough to find cover. The Adjutant quickly turned on her, howling at her, its rancid spit flecking her armour with tiny, black and blue chunks of what looked like rotten flesh. Then, rushing her faster than she could pull her weapon, it pushed her up into the corner, its needle-sharp claws slamming into the wall on either side of her, trapping her in with its long, ghastly, skeletal arms.

Three beady, glowing blue eyes bored into her from the sunken, almost mummified flesh of the Adjutant's bulbous face, its luminous mucous sac swaying and pulsing with its sickeningly loud heartbeat, making a sloshing noise like the sound of water hitting the side of a boat. Blue bile dripped in a steady stream from its mouth, which was overrun with tentacles and tubing so wrapped up around one another it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began, spraying in a noxious arc every time the creature breathed out. Shepard gagged, dazed by the overwhelming stench, and slapped a hand to her mouth and nose, protecting them from the infectious liquid. Pulling up her gun, she fired once into the creature's mass, bursting what appeared to be an exterior organ and eliciting an ear-piercing shriek from the Adjutant.

Bile gushed from the open wound, the burnt edges of the organ flopping, useless, between its widely-spaced legs, but this only seemed to make the creature angrier. Giving another deafening howl, the Adjutant slammed its hand into the wall again, barely missing Shepard's face as she ducked out of the way. "Shepard, take cover!" Nyreen called, getting her attention, and Shepard quickly tucked her head into her arms, curling up to make herself as small an armoured ball as humanly possible. A piercing shot rang out, and Shepard could smell the harsh, acidic odour of the blue bile from the creature's sac as the sickening sound of it bursting reached her ears. Barely a second later, she found herself covered in slick, blue gunk as the towering form of the Adjutant collapsed in a mass at her feet, causing the grate under her to shake with its weight.

Pulling a stringy black entrail she hoped was not part of its tongue out of her now-soaked hair, Shepard tossed it to one side, brushing the rest of the slimy, rotten-smelling brain matter from her shoulder-guards and stepping quickly over the headless corpse of the Adjutant, making her way back towards the rest of the party. "I hate those things," Nyreen breathed, inspecting her handiwork and wrinkling up her lined nose at the Adjutant's stench.

"Hate should make you deadlier," Aria reminded her. "That looked like fear to me."

"Let's just get to the elevator," Shepard suggested, still breathing heavily, trying to reign in the conversation. Suddenly, the sound of another loud shriek coming from somewhere beyond the hole the first Adjutant had made caused them all to look up again, startled. Shepard made a quick, indicative motion with her hand towards the ladder. "Now," she pressed. "Let's go now."

"Good idea," Aria agreed, not even bothering to come up with a snide retort. "I know the way back to the elevator from here. Just follow my lead. And try not to get lost, Shepard. If you fall behind and get caught by an Adjutant… you're on your own."

"Thanks, Aria," Shepard returned, sarcastic. "Good to know you have my back."

"I never said I'd have your back," Aria told her, frankly. "Now let's move out… before more of those things come around. You already smell bad enough as it is."


	16. WEEK ELEVEN, Pt.3

The elevator rattled as it made its way up the central shaft, the worn, cantankerous system setting Shepard's teeth on edge. She kept to the farthest side of the platform, her fingers curled anxiously around the lines of her gun as she watched Aria and Nyreen pace around the gridded metal floor. They did not seem nearly as uneasy as she was about the questionably sound framework of the lift – in fact, both seemed completely unfazed by the amount of noise the out-of-use elevator was making as it pushed its way up through the heart of the station. Zaeed came over to stand by her, leaning nonchalantly against the rickety railing of the elevator and crossing his arms across his chest. Turning to look at her, he gave her a quick look up and down, before letting out a soft, tired grunt of breath.

"Long day," he commented, offhandedly. "You tired?"

"A little," Shepard admitted, trying to keep her voice low so as not to draw attention. The sound of Nyreen talking on her earcomm wafted over to them from the other end of the elevator, causing Shepard to look up, intrigued, but Zaeed did not bother to react to it, merely crossing one heavy, plated ankle over the other and looking down at his feet as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Gavorn," Nyreen reported, talking loudly so the turian on the other end could hear her. "We're coming up from the tunnels and we're about to head into Afterlife. We need a distraction to get past the troopers on the lower level. The time to strike is now." Letting her hand drop back to her side, Nyreen looked up, her gaze falling on Aria, before frowning and giving her a quick, enquiring once-over. "Why are you grinning, Aria?" she asked, trying not to sound as wary as she looked.

"We're almost there," Aria answered, her voice barely above an excited hiss. "Once the resistance strikes and the status quo is interrupted, this war can _finally_ begin."

"For some of us it started months ago," Nyreen reminded her, tiredly.

Aria smirked, shaking her head. "That wasn't war, babe," she told her, running her fingers eagerly along the smooth surface of her pistol. "That was just a warm-up."

As if on cue, the elevator began to slow, before finally rumbling to a stop at its destination at the top of the shaft. The gates of the elevator slid open with a _click_ , allowing the four armed passengers to step smoothly off onto the sturdier floor of the docking station, looking around to make sure they were still alone and not about to be ambushed by troopers hiding in the shadows. "All clear," Nyreen assured them, making her way through the nearby open doorway. The next room over was a long, dimly-lit hallway, walled in on either side by what appeared to be thick glass windows showing into two identical rooms beyond, one on each side of the main, centre hall. The display rooms were brightly lit, and almost eerily clean, but it did not take long for them to figure out what their purpose was.

Shepard jumped, raising her weapon as a familiar, bone-chilling shriek reached them, and turned towards the nearest display window in time to see an angry-looking Adjutant ram its head into the glass, cracking it and causing the entire viewing wall to shake. The creature howled, splattering a foam of blue liquid across the now-cracked window, before running from one end of the display to the other, scratching at the windows, trying to get to the party on the other side. "Those idiots are keeping these things down here," Aria hissed, on edge, bringing her weapon up to her chest. "It's like they _want_ to get infected." Shaking her head, she motioned for them to follow her over to a thin, shaky-looking ladder at the far end of the hallway, leading up into a tube in the ceiling, obscuring its eventual destination. "Up here," she told them, pointing upward. "Shepard, you go first. If somebody gets shot coming out of that tunnel I don't want it to be me."

"Your faith in this plan is overwhelming," Shepard returned, sarcastic, stashing her gun on her back and starting up the ladder. It held surprisingly well for something so small and spindly, and as she made her way up into the darkness she could hear the sound of Nyreen's two-tone breathing behind her in the pipe. It did not take long before her head made contact with something solid, and, flinching, she reached up, feeling around for the trapdoor, wondering if this had been Aria's intent all along. "Get ready," she warned down the pipeline. Then, banging noisily on the heavy trapdoor, she pushed it upward with her shoulder, straining with the effort as she felt it start to give way above her, the sound of gunfire and shouting starting to leak in the closer she got to pushing it open.

Suddenly, the trap door popped open, and Shepard found herself squinting into the bleak, artificial neon light of the lower level of Afterlife. A broad, dark face crouched over the trap door, apparently the one who had pulled it the rest of the way open, and Shepard's brows shot up, surprised, as she realized who she was facing off with. "Patriarch!" she exclaimed, happy to see him. Without responding, Patriarch reached down, grabbing her by the upper arm, and lifted her easily out of the tunnel. Setting her down a little rockily behind the bar, he reached in again, this time pulling out Nyreen, followed by Zaeed, with Aria climbing out last of her own accord.

"Welcome back, Commander Shepard," Patriarch told her, his deep voice morbidly amused, before turning his attention to Aria again. "Aria. Took you long enough."

"Yes, well," Aria shrugged, popping the nearly-spent heat sink out of her weapon and replacing it with a new, cool one. "Things came up, Patriarch. You know how it is."

Patriarch nodded, amenable. Then, turning away from the party, he cupped a clawed hand around one edge of his broad mouth. "Friendlies incoming!" he boomed, garnering a response from Gavorn across the room which none of them could quite make out. Turning his attention back to Aria, he gave a deep, satisfied chuckle, adjusting his gun more sturdily in his arms. "Never thought I'd be fighting for you as the lesser of two evils," he told her, grinning crookedly and showing off several chipped and ragged crocodilian teeth. "We got you covered. Now get up there. Go show these bastards who the real queen of Omega is."

"With pleasure, friend," Aria returned, giving him a reassuring nod. Then, ducking past Patriarch and out from behind the bar, Aria weaved her way stealthily through the civilian battlefield, taking cover behind an upturned table before leaping over it and making a beeline for the entryway of the lower floor. The rest of the party followed closely behind her, their guns pointed outward in all directions, returning whatever fire came their way. A plasma bullet grazed Shepard's shoulder, leaving a burnt, pockmarked trail in the paint of her shoulder-guard, and another barely missed Nyreen's head, causing her to have to duck out of the way to avoid being shot. Even so, it did not take long for them to finally make their way to the door of the club and duck outside into the stairwell, safe for the time being from Cerberus ground troopers.

Up the stairs, the door to the upper level of Omega glowed orange, waiting for an activation key to override its lock. These locks were always the weakest kind to overwrite, and Shepard quickly passed the scanner on the top of her omni-tool sensor over the orange icon, causing it to give a loud, thinking beep before quickly flashing green and allowing them easy access. Passing through the door into the upper level, Shepard quickly raised her weapon, ready to defend herself, scanning the room for any troopers who might have been guarding the floor from trespassers, but it seemed that the upper level of Club Afterlife was completely empty but for a large, gaudy display of vid screens that stretched in a panoramic view nearly halfway around the circumference of the club. As they moved further into the room, they could see a single tall, broad black chair sitting on the high, far balcony in front of the wall of screens, its back to the entryway of the club, making it impossible for them to see who – if anyone – was sitting in it.

"Petrovsky," Aria growled. Gripping her weapon, she ran up the stairs to the balcony, skipping every other step in her haste to reach it. Once there, she crossed the floor determinedly to the chair, reaching out an eager hand to turn it around and face her.

"Aria T'Loak!"

Retrieving her hand from the chair, Aria spun on her heel, barely taking a second to think before bringing up her weapon and firing once in the direction the voice had come from. Shepard's hand immediately shot out, knocking Aria's weapon down towards the floor, but it was too late. Petrovsky looked down, examining his shoulder with detached interest, which, miraculously, did not seem to have taken any damage from the plasma bullet. Reaching up a hand, he tapped the place where he had been shot, giving it a few dismissive scratches with his manicured nail, before letting out a short, unconcerned grunt of breath and looking up at Aria again, unfazed. "Aria T'Loak," he repeated, his accented voice deep and commanding. "I commend you. Your plan of attack was impeccable."

"Where did you come from?" Aria demanded, yanking her gun out from under Shepard's censorious hand. "You weren't here a second ago, I would have seen you!"

"Would you?" Petrovsky asked, pointedly. "Or were you so entirely distracted by how you _think_ things are, or how you feel they _should_ be, that you overlooked the reality of the situation completely?" He sneered, eyes moving down to her weapon, before his gaze returned to her face again. "That seems to be your general modus operandi," he told her, taciturnly. "And really, it would be a shame for you to change it now."

"I take it we were expected," Shepard commented, darkly, resting the butt of her Marauder warily against her hip.

"I knew Afterlife would be your primary target," Petrovsky informed them, his cold, black eyes still trained on Aria. "Of course the queen would try to come and reclaim her throne."

"It's too bad you're on the Illusive Man's side, Petrovsky," Aria told him, giving him an apathetic once-over. "We could have been great partners, you and I."

"I'm on humanity's side," Petrovsky corrected her, coldly. "You're the one trying to start a war – for _the glory of Aria_. It's too bad it's already over."

"This isn't over until your next of kin can't identify you," Aria hissed, taking a threatening step forward towards him.

Petrovsky did not even flinch. "I love your bravado," he told her, unmoved. "But… have the sense to know when you're beaten. Your petty resistance is outnumbered four to one, and even if you did decide to go with your better instincts and retreat, you've got no way off this station. Not for all of you. You might as well just give up."

"Never!" Aria spat, taking another step forward. "I—" Just then, she stopped, her expression clearing from one of rage to one of bewilderment. "Wait a minute," she said, quietly, frowning, confused. Reaching forward towards Petrovsky, she faltered, her hand drawing ever nearer, inch by inch. Then, taking another sudden step forward, she jabbed her hand right through his abdomen. Aria gasped, moving her hand around in the empty space of the hologram, before retrieving her hand again, wriggling her fingers in front of her face to make sure she was not imagining things, and looking up at the hologram again. The hologram of Petrovsky flickered faintly, faltering from the convincingly solid form it had had only moments earlier, and Aria frowned deeper, baring her teeth, annoyed.

"I knew it," she growled. "I knew you were just a stooge! Where's the real person in charge of this operation? Huh?" Grabbing up her gun, she aimed it at the ceiling, firing several loud shots into the panelling. The hologram of Petrovsky exclaimed in garbled distress, and then, after a moment of violent disjointed malfunctioning, flickered out completely. "Show yourself!" Aria shouted, moving further into the control room, holding her gun at the ready. "I know you're in here. Petrovsky was just a patsy, but there's _someone_ in charge of this operation – I know you're here, now SHOW YOURSELF!"

"Calm yourself, Aria," cooed an older woman's voice as the large, black, swivel-back chair in front of the vid screen hub began to turn slowly on its axis. "There's no need to get so upset." Turning around to face the party, the woman smiled, knowingly, steepling her thin, bony fingers together in front of her, her elbows resting carelessly on the rigid, comfortable armrests of her overlarge chair. Her silver-streaked hair had been pulled back away from her face, and her large, dark-grey eyes were cold and intuitive. There was something familiar about her, unnervingly so, but it was not until Aria identified her that Shepard knew why she felt so uneasy to see this woman again.

"Helena Blake," Aria hissed, her nose wrinkling in disdain. "I should've known it was you. You always did have too much ambition and too little drive to achieve it for yourself."

"Aria T'Loak," Blake answered smoothly, not bothering to get up from her seat. "I should have known you would find me here. How do you like what I've done with the place?" Lifting her hands from the arm-rests, she indicated all around her, at the walls lined with vid screens showing her images of goings-on all across Omega. Two of the screens had gone blank, the corresponding cameras apparently shot out, but on the screen directly next to them, Shepard could see a tiny moving image of the fight going on directly under their feet. Turning her attention back to Blake, she frowned, her hand squeezing angrily around the grip of her gun as she fought to resist the urge to use it. She would not allow her feelings to get away from her when she had fought so hard to keep them in check up until now, and she knew she still needed Blake alive to get important information out of her.

Gritting her teeth, Shepard pursed her lips, taking a stiff step forward and jabbing an accusatory finger at Blake. "I let you live!" she told her, angrily. "Back on Amaranthine. I could have killed you – I _should_ have killed you, after what you put me through! But I didn't. I gave you a chance to walk away. And this is how you repay me?"

"Commander Shepard, your foolish sympathy on my part is in no way my fault," Blake told her, frankly, her voice a dark deadpan. "You gave me the freedom to walk away from my old life. And I did. But where was I supposed to go from there? My whole life, all I'd ever known, all I'd ever been _good_ at, was crime. Did you expect me to suddenly turn my life around? Start volunteering at homeless shelters, laying bricks and preparing bottles for baby hospitals?" She chuckled darkly, shaking her head and lacing her fingers together in front of her, appeased. "Cerberus had heard of my… reputation," she went on, complacently. "They welcomed me with open arms. Especially once they'd learned how I'd had some past dealings with you, Commander. That especially seemed to tickle the Illusive Man's fancy."

"That still doesn't answer my question," Aria cut in again, irritated. "Why are you here, Blake?"

"Isn't it obvious, Aria?" Blake answered, incredulous. "I own this station. Omega belongs to me now. The Illusive Man put me in control of the station once Oleg Petrovsky proved to be…" She paused, thinking of a word for it. "…Unsatisfactory," she finished. "I've continued to use his image as a front, however, as you cleverly figured out. He's served far more use to me that way than he ever did when he was actually operating in a position of power."

"You killed Petrovsky?" Aria asked, taken aback, slitting her eyes at Blake.

"Oh no," Blake answered, shaking her head. "No, no. He's not dead, but he no longer holds any power. Not until he's proven himself worthy to the Illusive Man again."

"And what did _you_ do to prove yourself worthy to the Illusive Man?" Aria asked her, her restraint growing steadily more razor-thin.

"Who do you think set the Adjutants loose in the first place?" Blake demanded, opening her hands, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "They didn't get out on their own. Those things don't have enough logic sense to open a door on their own, let alone fly a craft from one system to the next. That was all me, Aria – all me. And the Illusive Man rewarded me handsomely for it."

"You… BITCH!" Aria howled, lunging forward, her hands outstretched towards Blake's throat, but Zaeed and Nyreen quickly stepped forward, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her back again. " _You_ took Omega from me!" Aria shrieked, thrashing to get away from her restrainers. " _You_ were the one who—the one who—!"

Blake gave a short, harsh scoff of a laugh, amused by the sight of Aria being held back against her will. "Of course I did," she answered, simply. "What, you think I was going to let you – you, who have done nothing but sit on your throne and gloat as the common man toiled and starved in filth and obscurity – lay claim to Omega? Cerberus has opened my eyes, Aria. They've made me aware of just how unfit a leader you really are." Pushing herself up from her chair, Blake approached Aria, leaning in towards her until her face was barely a foot away. Aria yanked at her arms, struggling to break free from her constraints, but to no avail. "With my help, Cerberus will wipe Omega clean," Blake jeered, all humour gone from her expression. "They'll burn it down and build it back up in their image, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Humanity will save this station, Aria. Under Cerberus, Omega will flourish in ways you could only imagine."

"You're crazy," Aria hissed, giving another jerk at her held-back arms. "Omega is my home! The people who live here, they have families! I look out for the people, Blake. Cerberus could never understand that. All they understand is power." Still breathing heavily, Aria slowly composed herself, leaning back away from Blake, and jerked her arm forcefully from Zaeed's grasp, pulling the other one smoothly from Nyreen's, much calmer now, though still just as angry. "They don't want to raise this station up to its former glory," she told Blake, shaking her head, her breath still shuddering with anger. "They just want to use it as a pawn in their grab for ultimate political power. They won't build Omega up, they'll _destroy_ it."

"Like you already did?" Blake shot back, venomous, crossing her arms. "Face it, Aria. Under your rule Omega became a slum. It became a hellhole of biblical proportions – your so-called home is a glorified, rehashed Sodom and Gomorra, and Cerberus are the angels sent down to cleanse it."

"I have no idea what you're babbling about," Aria told her, her tattooed brow darkening into a hard frown. "But I'm getting tired of hearing you talk." Drawing her weapon from her holster, Aria shoved it up against Blake's forehead, the hot metal digging into the soft flesh right between her eyes. With a sound of scared surprise, Blake dropped back into her chair, her dark-grey eyes crossing as she stared at the weapon aimed squarely at her brain. "Tell me who's in charge of this operation," Aria demanded, climbing up onto the chair after her, pinning her down with her knees, her free hand shoving Blake's frail shoulder, hard, into the material of the seat. "Tell me who's _really_ calling the shots around here."

"A-Armistan Banes!" Blake exclaimed, holding up her hands, her previous bravado seeming to have left her all at once. "It's Armistan Banes, he's the one in charge! The Illusive Man just has me running numbers, Banes is the one who's in charge of the troops!"

"Armistan Banes?" Shepard asked, frowning, confused. "Armistan Banes is dead. A group of marines found his body on a derelict ship in the Sparta system years ago."

"That wasn't Banes," Blake gasped, wetting her lips, her voice trembling as she stared intently at the gun lodged against her forehead. "Banes isn't dead. He faked his death, then had those marines killed before they could change their report and revise their information with the true identity of the body they found."

"Where is Armistan Banes?" Aria insisted, jamming the gun even harder between Blake's eyes. "Tell me, Blake! Or I swear to the spirits I'll blow your head clean off."

"He-he-he's not here!" Blake exclaimed, holding up her hands, pleadingly. "He's hiding out in the apartment where Archangel was killed. I swear to you!"

"Fine," Aria growled, retrieving her gun, which had left a hot, red ring in the middle of Blake's forehead. Blake let out a deep, grateful sigh, reaching up a hand to gingerly touch the spot on her head where the gun had been, before Aria pushed herself back off the seat, turning to face Shepard and the rest of the company. "We're gonna go find that son of a bitch Banes," she said. Then, turning back towards Blake, she aimed her gun at her again, causing Blake to quickly lift her hands again in a sign of surrender. "But I swear, Blake," she hissed. "If he's not there, or if there's some other funny business waiting for us when we get there, I'm going to come back here, and I'm going to blow your _fucking head off_."

"Understood," Blake stammered, her face pale with fright.

Retrieving her weapon again, Aria made a quick, dismissive gesture over her shoulder. "Watch her until I get back, Nyreen," she said, causing Nyreen to look up, surprised. "Make sure she doesn't try anything stupid. Shepard, Massani, you're coming with me. Let's see that rat bastard try to fake his death _this_ time."

* * *

The apartment where Shepard had reunited with Garrus after two long years of being declared dead, where they had come together just like old times to fight off an army of mercs almost single-handedly, was exactly the way she remembered it. She knew that should have been her first tip-off that something was very wrong, but she followed Aria through the open entryway and into the front room of the apartment anyway, keeping her gun trained at the ready just in case something decided to jump out and attack them. Aria had been less than subtle in her campaign to get them to the apartment, and, once there, she had all but come barging through the front door to let herself inside. Banes had had plenty of time to prepare for their arrival, and even to perhaps throw together some particularly nasty surprise for them if he so chose, but the further they got into the apartment, the more apparent it became to Shepard that prospective booby traps were going to be the least of their troubles.

The first thing she noticed upon entering the apartment was the overwhelming smell. It seemed no one had bothered to clean the place up since the last time she had been there, and she had to cover her mouth and nose with her hand to keep herself from being sick. The mercenaries they had killed had been left to rot where they had fallen, and what skin had not fallen off the bone and pooled in the scarred but surprisingly still intact armour still clung, sunken and desiccated, to their inert skeletons. Careful not to touch anything, Shepard stepped precariously over the body of the salarian Eclipse leader, which had been left strewn across the upward-leading stairscase. His eyes had rotted out of his skull, leaving two large, gaping holes staring straight up at the ceiling, and a delicate, prickly mould had begun to grow in the now dark-green splatters of blood that had sprayed up the side of the railing when he had been shot.

"This place is a mausoleum," Shepard commented, quietly, making a face as she hurried to catch up with Aria and Zaeed. Reaching the door at the end of the upstairs hallway, Aria pushed it open, lifting her gun and pointing it at the far end of the room. Shepard and Zaeed, too, moved into the room after her, panning their guns from one corner of the room to the other. The pool of dark blue blood where Garrus had taken a hefty artillery blow to the side of his face had congealed and dried, leaving a crusty, bluish-black stain on the taupe tile floor. "Armistan Banes?" Shepard called, loudly enough to be clearly heard. Then, letting out a sharp, frustrated huff of breath, she dropped her weapon again, frowning, frustrated. "Shit," she swore. "Banes isn't here. I don't see any indication he ever was, either."

"Shit!" Aria returned, much louder. "That sneaky two-faced bitch tricked me!" Turning away from the empty room, Aria quickly pressed her fingers to her in-ear comm, connecting to Nyreen's channel. "Nyreen," she told her, hastily. "Hold Blake there, do you hear me? Banes isn't here. We're coming back, and I've got a bone to pick with her."

"Aria, Blake got away," Nyreen reported back, giving a hiss of pain that caused the comm channel to crackle faintly. "She had a pistol I didn't see and she got me good in the shoulder. She's fast for an old woman. I'm sorry."

"Shit!" Aria repeated, angry. Picking up a nearby miniature potted plant, she smashed it on the floor in frustration before turning back to Shepard and Zaeed, her breathing heavy. "She got away!" she exclaimed. "Blake tricked me and now she's made a run for it. This is not the way I wanted this to go!"

"Maybe you can intercept her escape," Shepard suggested, taking a helpful step forward. "You've got people on the perimeter. You told me so – an army of merc ships. Give them the order to capture her if she tries to go off-world."

Aria stared at her for a moment, her ringed blue eyes wide, processing this proposition. Then, turning away from Shepard and Zaeed again, she pressed her fingers into her earcomm once more, patching herself back into Nyreen's channel. "Nyreen, do not lose track of her," she instructed, harshly. "Make sure you keep eyes on her at all times. Get your people on her, make sure they know where she's going. If she tries to go off-world, be sure and tell me what type of craft she's taking." Spinning on her heel, Aria began to pace, agitatedly. "Nobody pulls a fast one over on Aria and gets away with it," she growled, gritting her teeth in fury. " _Nobody_."

"Aria, Gavorn says he's got her in his sights," Nyreen reported back, readily. "She's taking a Cerberus escape pod. What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing, you're good," Aria told her. Then, switching the channel of her in-ear comm she pressed her fingers to it again, waiting for the telltale sound of voices to let her know it had been picked up on the other end. "Bray," she insisted once she had gotten through. "I need you to be on the lookout for a Cerberus escape pod leaving the station's surface. Single-person capacity. You see it?" She paused, waiting for an affirmative response, and Shepard glanced over at Zaeed, who was staring at the bulky corpse of a krogan mercenary leader lying at the far end of the room, seeming more intrigued than anything else by the deflated hump and leg so ravaged by decomposition it had actually detached from the rest of the body.

"I knew him," he commented, casually, lifting his gun half-interestedly in the krogan's direction. "He was a bastard, that one. Nobody deserves to end up like that, though. Should get in contact with his mum when we get back to the ship. See if she wants to collect him."

"You see the escape pod?" Aria cut over them, drawing their attention back to her. "Good. You got her in your sights?"

"Shouldn't we try to take her alive?" Shepard asked, frowning. "So we can get information out of her about Cerberus? What they're planning?"

"I don't care what they're planning, Shepard," Aria told her, shaking her head vehemently. "I just want the bitch dead. You got her in your sights, Bray?" Hearing the affirmative, she took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders triumphantly and letting her gun drop back to her side. "Good," she hissed. "Now… _open fire_."

* * *

Helena Blake's death at the hands of Aria T'Loak had been the first domino to fall in what was quickly becoming apparent had been a partisan structure already on the razor-thin brink of collapse. Between Aria's fleet of merc ships breaking through the Cerberus line as she had planned, and the resistance making short work of the troopers on the lower level of Afterlife and taking to the streets to chase the remaining Cerberus troopers out of Omega, it did not take long before the Cerberus threat began to show hopeful signs of having been effectively overturned. Several strong reminders of their occupation still lingered all over the station, from the huge, neon symbol erected over the sign for Afterlife to the now-aimless attack mechs that still wandered the streets, searching for relevant commands, to the remaining Adjutants still prowling the dark, abandoned underbelly of the station.

Still, none of that did anything to dampen Aria's mood as she took to the station-wide vidcomm system, announcing the end of Cerberus' rule and the reinstatement of her own, promising to work side by side with Nyreen Kandros to clean up Omega and make it the station they both believed it had the proclivity to be, better and brighter than ever before. The red sand trade would cease on Omega, and everyone would be given a paying job helping to clean the station up to mirror its former, nearly-forgotten glory. The slums would be cleared out to make way for proper housing, and new businesses would be built on Omega, inviting bigger and better opportunities for the people living there to earn a decent working wage doing clean, honest work.

Once safely back on the Normandy, still beaming with the thought of what Omega now had the chance to become, Shepard had retreated to her quarters to strip and change back into more comfortable clothes. Her bare feet cooled against the sleek, metal floor as she carefully tied the waist of her pyjama pants into a loose, easy bow, pulling her hoodie on over her shirt in case someone came in to check on her. The contents of her ammo pouch had been emptied out on the comforter of her bed, and, reaching back, she picked up the scuffed, rectangular box, opening the lid and looking inside again. The heat-sealed packet of red sand stared back at her, challenging her to take it.

She had never done red sand before, but everything she had heard about it made it sound like a drug best taken in the company of someone well-trusted. People who used the drug had a tendency to become extremely paranoid and highly destructive, both towards themselves and to those around them, or so she had heard from those with more experience than herself in these things. Vega, in particular, had nothing good to say about the drug – while he was not extremely keen to talk about his experiences, he had let slip to her once that he had a relative (he would not say which one) who was addicted to red sand, and who had tried to attack him once while under the influence. It was a scary thought to lose control of one's functional reasoning, but there was also something morbidly fascinating about the idea of doing harm to one's self without having the state of mind to feel the pain inflicted.

"That would probably do the trick," she murmured, picking up the straw apparatus and turning it over in her fingers, thoughtfully. Just then, the gentle sound of the comm monitor on her desk turning on made her look up, the gentle _pinging_ sound telling her she had an incoming transmission. Dropping the straw back in the box and stuffing the lid on, she quickly hid the box of drugs under her bed, padding over to the vidcomm and dropping herself down in front of it. Reaching out, she selected the button to turn the vid monitor on, and, waiting, she watched the screen as it flashed the yellow standby symbol, fiddling anxiously with the pull-ties of her hoodie as she waited for the videocomm to connect. Finally, the screen flickered into operation, and, smoothing out the creases of her uniform, Hannah Shepard settled more comfortably into her seat across the vidscreen, offering her daughter an affectionate, greeting smile.

"Mom," Shepard exclaimed, surprised to see her mother on the other end. Then, wetting her lips, she cleared her throat, tucking her legs up into a more comfortable criss-cross position in the seat of her chair. "What's up?" she asked, trying to sound as conversational as possible.

"I'm in need of a trim," Hannah answered, frankly, giving a gentle sigh as she reached up a hand to brush her bangs out of her soft green eyes. "It's not nearly as easy as you'd think to find someone capable of cutting hair on a military vessel. Last time I cut my own bangs I ended up looking like one of those post-century android pinups – you know, with the really short bangs straight across? What a nightmare."

"I'm sure it wasn't _that_ bad," Shepard told her, chuckling.

"If you say so," Hannah conceded, leaning forward on her desk and folding her hands in front of her, eager. "So. I heard about how you're trying to collect an army to fight the Reapers. My daughter, out saving the galaxy. Do you need any assistance with anything? Do you want the Orizaba to join in the fight with you? Just give the word—"

"No, Mom, I… no," Shepard answered, holding up her hands and shaking her head. "We're fine. We've got the krogan fighting for us, the turians are fighting for us, the asari said they'd be willing to fight for us if I were to do a few recon missions on Thessia, which is where we're headed now…"

"Right, the asari," Hannah said, shaking an indicative finger towards the screen. "Isn't your girlfriend an asari? How is she doing, anyway, by the way? What's her name… Liandra, or Lis… Lisa…?"

"Liara," Shepard corrected her, laughing. She knew that Hannah knew perfectly well what Liara's name was, but she enjoyed teasing Shepard about it just to get a reaction out of her. Her mother always knew how to make her smile, which was one of the things Shepard loved most about her. "Liara's fine. She's helping us to get ready to launch an attack on the Reapers. We're not dating anymore, though. We… broke up."

"You mean because everyone thought you were dead," Hannah answered. "There are better ways to end a relationship, Jane."

"Mom, I _was_ dead," Shepard corrected her. "I was _dead_. Liara was entirely in her rights to move on because of that, but no. That's not it. We just… we grew apart, is all. We just didn't want the same things out of our relationship."

"She wanted a relationship and you just wanted a booty call, is that what I'm hearing?" Hannah asked, arching a telling brow. She had never been one to sugar-coat things.

"Mom, that's… it's not important," Shepard answered, quickly changing the subject. "What _is_ important is that you and the Orizaba don't have to worry about a thing. We've got the best technological and medical aid in the galaxy, the Normandy is in top shape, and we're gaining more allies every day. The rachni even promised to help us out."

"Oh, well that's great," Hannah answered, raising her brows, surprised. "You've got _giant bugs_ working on your weapons of mass destruction. What could possibly go wrong?"

"They're actually really intelligent," Shepard told her, smiling despite herself. "And they know how to build, oddly enough. I guess that's… termite psychology? Something instinctual like that?"

"Super-intelligent giant termites," Hannah returned, deadpan. "Excellent. On second thought, I don't think we'll be helping you bomb the Reapers after all."

"Thanks, Mom," Shepard chuckled. After a moment, however, the chuckle faded from her lips, her smile slowly disappearing as she looked down towards her lap, her hands balled into fists, hidden in the pockets of her hoodie. "Mom," she finally spoke up again, her voice quieter this time. "There's… there's something I need to tell you. You can't tell anyone I told you this, but it's… well… it's kind of important."

"What is it, Jane?" Hannah asked, folding her hands patiently in front of her on the desk.

Lifting her gaze, Shepard looked up at her mother again, before biting down on her lip, anxious. "Mom," she said, preparing herself and taking a deep breath in. "I'm… I'm pregnant. And before you ask whose it is… it's Garrus'."

Hannah was silent a moment, staring at her daughter, blankly, through the vidscreen. Then, clearing her throat a bit, she leaned in closer to the screen, her expression uncertain, as if discussing something highly confidential. "Garrus?" she asked pointedly, her voice lower. "The… the turian?"

"Garrus Vakarian, yes," Shepard said, nodding.

Hannah paused again, processing this, before frowning, pensive, trying hard to hide her confusion. "Are you sure?" she finally asked. "I mean, is it possible that there's been some mistake? Or that it might be somebody else's? How sure are you that you're actually…" She faltered, cutting herself off, and glanced quickly over her shoulder, making sure no one was listening in on their conversation. Then, turning her attention back to Shepard, she bit her lip, looking just as confused as ever. "That you're actually pregnant at all?" she asked. "I mean, those tests, they're not always one hundred percent accurate, you know—"

"Mom," Shepard cut her off, shaking her head. "I'm sure. I'm sure it's Garrus'. And I'm sure it's real." Taking in a deep breath, she let it out in a heavy huff of a sigh. "Believe me," she assured her, raising her brows. "I'm _sure_."

"How far along are you?" Hannah asked, leaning back in her seat and pulling a mug of hot tea towards her from outside the vid frame. "Do you know? I mean, have you been keeping track?"

"About three months," Shepard answered quietly, shrugging her shoulders, a bit sheepishly. "Maybe a little less."

"So then you've got a tummy now, have you?" Hannah asked, bobbing the tea packet in and out of the hot water before blowing on the liquid to cool it. "A little baby bump?"

Shepard hesitated, suddenly uncomfortable, feeling a hot red blush rising to her cheeks and ears. "Kind of," she answered, monotone, trying to force the blush down again. "I mean… I guess."

Hannah nodded, taking a sip of her tea, before setting it down again and wetting her lips. "Can I see it?" she asked, indicating eagerly towards the screen.

Again, Shepard hesitated. "I'd rather not," she finally answered, frankly, pressing herself as flat against the back of her chair as she could manage.

"Oh come on," Hannah urged, clicking her tongue disappointedly. "I spend all day surrounded by the most boring, stuffy old men you can imagine, clearing pathways for bigger warships from space debris. Can't your mom have at least a _little_ bit of joy in her day?" She paused, waiting, staring expectantly at the vidscreen, before finally seeming to realize she was not going to get her request and letting out a soft, disappointed sigh. "Well, can you at least tell me if it's a boy or a girl?" she asked, pulling her tea towards her again. "You can at least tell me _that_ much, can't you? I'm dying here, Jane. You're _killing_ me."

"I don't know what it is," Shepard answered truthfully, shrugging again, resisting the urge to run her hand over the small bump hidden beneath her roomy hoodie. "I haven't gotten an ultrasound to determine the sex. I don't know if I'm going to, either. I don't think I really want to know, all things considered."

"You're keeping it a surprise?" Hannah asked, bringing up her tea and taking a sip.

Shepard sucked in on her bottom lip, thoughtful, before giving a toss of her head, clearing her shaggy bangs out of her eyes. "Something like that," she replied, evasive.

Hannah nodded, finishing her sip of tea and giving a soft, satisfied exhale as she set the mug down in front of her again. "The first time I got an ultrasound with you, they told me you were going to be a boy," she said, looking up at her daughter again, a conspiratorial twinkle in her soft green eyes. "Of course, that's been thirty or so years now, so the technology's probably gotten better, but…" She paused, tapping a contemplative finger against the edge of her mug, before looking up at Shepard again. "How old are you, now?" she asked, teasingly. "Thirty? Thirty-five?"

"Mom," Shepard scolded her, unable to help but crack a smile. "I'm thirty-six. You _know_ I'm thirty-six."

"I know," Hannah said, smiling back at her daughter. "I just wanted to see if I could make you laugh. Good to know I haven't lost _all_ of my talent."

"Is that true, though?" Shepard asked, taking her hands from her pockets to lean forward on the desk towards the vidscreen. "Did they really think I was going to be a boy?"

"Lord, yes," Hannah answered frankly, nodding. "I was going to name you John if you were a boy. But I had an inkling they were wrong, even with all their fancy tech, and – wouldn't you know it – _I was right_." Letting out a short, vindicated laugh, Hannah let a pleased hand come to rest over her heart, rolling her eyes at the memory. "I wish you could have seen the looks on those doctors' faces when you came out a healthy, beautiful little girl," she told Shepard, shaking her head and grinning widely. "Priceless. Absolutely _priceless_."

"So you decided to call me Jane instead?" Shepard asked, smiling back uncertainly, a little put off by this until-now-unknown fact about her life. "Instead of John? Your originality, Mom…"

"Hush," Hannah told her, curtly, but it was obvious from the tiny, embarrassed smile on her face that she was thinking the same exact thing. "Jane is a good, strong name for a girl. There are lots of influential women in history named Jane."

"Like who, Jane Austen?" Shepard asked, leaning back in her chair again, her hands returning to the pockets of her hoodie. "Please, Mom… _please_ tell me you didn't name me after Jane Austen."

"Well, what about Jane Goodall?" Hannah asked. "I could very well have named you after her. You don't know. She was a renowned animal activist and scientist. You like animals, don't you, Jane?"

Shepard paused, taken aback, before arching a brow, suspicious. "Is that a trick question?" she asked.

Hannah scoffed, turning her gaze down towards her mug and pulling it quickly in towards her. "You malign your dear old mother," she scolded, picking up her tea for a sip. "I would never make dirty jokes like that at your expense. I love you far too much for that."

"You're a terrible liar, Mom," Shepard told her, smiling.

"So what are you going to name your little one?" Hannah asked, quickly changing the subject. "You've picked out boy and girl names, haven't you?"

"I… no," Shepard answered truthfully, dropping her gaze as the smile quickly left her face. "No, I haven't. It's… it's not… none of this is written in stone yet, Mom."

Hannah paused, her hand poised on the mug of tea, the steam curling upward from the liquid the only thing moving on the vidscreen. Then, finally, she took a deep breath, her expression turning suddenly stony. "You're thinking of getting rid of it?" she asked, her tone flat, hard for Shepard to interpret.

Shepard hesitated, more than a bit thrown by her mother's sudden shift in attitude, but merely shrugged in response. "It'd be for the best of the galaxy," she answered, lamely, feeling the world like a child in trouble again.

"Do you really believe it's what's best for the galaxy?" Hannah asked, her tone hard, testing her daughter. "Or is it just what you believe is best for you?"

Leaning back in her seat again, Shepard crossed her arms, frowning and feeling suddenly very defensive against her mother's accusatory tone. "If you'd heard the initial doctor's report you wouldn't even be asking me that," she said, flatly. "He said it'd be a miracle if the thing survived gestation. Let alone trying to survive outside the womb." As soon as the words had left her mouth, she made a face, cringing at the heavy, clinical weight the words carried. The idea of her having a _womb_ , and something _gestating_ in it, made her want to cross her legs tightly and never open them again. Instead, she kept her composure, staring austerely at her mother through the vidscreen, and watching as her mother stared just as sternly back.

"Jane," Hannah told her, leaning in towards the vidscreen again, intense. "Do you know what they told me when I found out I was pregnant? They told me that I couldn't be a mother and an officer at the same time. And you know what I told them?"

"To shove it up their ass?" Shepard returned, monotone, so used to hearing this answer that it barely even fazed her anymore.

"To shove it up their ass," Hannah told her, leaning back in her seat again. "I didn't care what they said I could or couldn't do. I was going to have my baby girl _and_ remain an officer in the Alliance, and they were just going to have to deal with it. And you know what? I _did_."

"But you _wanted_ me, Mom," Shepard argued, letting out a sharp, agitated sigh at the end of her story. "I don't even know if I _want_ this baby. Besides, what kind of mother would I even be? I'm not like you. I'm not… superwoman. I can't do everything you do."

"How can you say that, Jane?" Hannah demanded. "Look at how much you've accomplished so far! What makes you think you can't do that and raise a family, like I did?"

"Like you did?" Shepard scoffed, crossing one swollen ankle over the other and stretching her legs out under the table in an effort to get more comfortable. "Mom, you're in command of a ship nobody's ever even heard of. You clear paths for warships, you're… you're the _snow plough_ of the Alliance, Mom, that's basically what you are." A hard, ringing, razor-thin silence followed this statement, filling the airspace between them with suffocating awkwardness, the quiet broken only by the soft bubbling of the aquarium filter. Finally, giving a soft, tired sigh, Shepard broke the silence, dropping her gaze and pushing a hand back through her hair, exhausted. "I'm sorry, Mom," she said, her voice quieter, looking up at her mother again. "I didn't mean that. You're… an amazing human being. I've always looked up to you for everything that you've done, for me and for the galaxy. But…"

She fell silent again, pursing her lips, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as she tried to think of something, anything to say that would explain how she was feeling. "If I have this baby, that would be it for me," she finally told her mother, shaking her head, defeated. "That would effectively be the end of my military career. I couldn't go back into space knowing that I have a child somewhere that needs my care. And if he does wind up actually making it to full gestation… or, she…" Here, she paused, staring straight ahead, her gaze unfocused, unseeing. She had never thought about the baby as a girl before; for some reason, it had always occurred to her that, should she ever decide to have a child, it would undoubtedly turn out to be a boy. Now, for the first time, she found herself realizing that there was a distinct possibility that the baby growing inside of her might, in fact, be a girl.

The thought was strangely startling to her, and even a bit frightening. She had no idea how she would be expected to know how to take care of a little girl; she barely knew how her own body worked, let alone that of a little girl whose needs were not altogether human. "She's going to need special care," she finally went on, barely noticing the gender slip. " _Lots_ of special care. I'm not just going to leave my baby in the hands of some doctor while I go out exploring the galaxy, that's…" She shook her head, her eyes distant, reaching up a hand to massage her collar-bone distractedly. "I'm not that selfish," she said, her voice quieter, her lips feeling almost numb.

"Is it really less selfish to spare the child the misery of living with medical infirmities than to allow it the chance to live?" Hannah asked, pointedly, her mug of tea all but forgotten. "Do you really think the child would not prefer a hard life to no life at all?"

"I can't… Mom, I _can't_ ," Shepard pleaded, feeling her defences starting to chip away and willing herself very hard not to tear up in front of her mother. "I _can't_ keep this baby, Mom. Not with everything that's at stake. I just can't – and _you know that_."

"What if you were born with infirmities, Jane?" Hannah asked. "Would you have preferred I killed you? Would you rather be killed than, say… lose a limb?"

"It's a false equivalency, Mom!" Shepard exploded, slamming her hands angrily down on the desk on either side of the vidscreen. "I was born healthy and strong! I was a perfectly normal human baby, not some, some… half-turian _freak_ baby who will fall apart if you _breathe_ on it too hard! Think about _me_ for once, Mom – have some compassion for _my_ situation! I'm your _daughter_ , for fuck's sake!"

"Commander Shepard?"

Shepard faltered, hearing her name over the intercom, and looked up, trying to keep from blanching. She had to wonder how long Traynor had been listening in on her conversation before announcing her unseen presence. "Yes, Traynor?" she asked, working very hard to keep her voice as casual as possible. It was difficult when she could almost feel herself start to shake with anxious, unwanted nerves.

"Commander, you have an incoming message from Admiral Hackett via vidcomm," Traynor informed her, sounding, to her credit, completely casual. Her level tone gave Shepard hope that Traynor had not actually heard anything that was being said, and had only tapped in at the exact moment she had announced herself.

"Thank you, Traynor," she told her, listening for the intercom to click off before turning her attention back to her mother again. Hannah stared at her tellingly from the other end of the vidscreen, her hands clasped dutifully around her mug of tea, the liquid seeming to have cooled by now so only a few stray wisps of steam escaped the brim every so often. "I have to take this call, Mom," she told her. "It's from Admiral Hackett." She paused, chewing her lower lip fretfully, wishing there were something else she could say, anything to add to the conversation. "I hear you got promoted to Rear Admiral," she finally said, her voice weak.

Hannah stared at her daughter for a moment, frowning, before giving a soft, tired sigh. "I should go, Jane," she said, reaching for her display screen. "I've got a snow plough to run."

"Mom, wait," Shepard said, holding up a hand, stopping her. Hannah did as she was told, hesitating momentarily, her expression interested but patient. Shepard bit her lip again, frowning faintly, before taking in one last, deep breath. "I love you, Mom," she said, her voice quiet.

Hannah considered this, watching her daughter, before finally letting out a gentle sigh in return, her expression softening, almost sympathetically. "I love you, too, Jane," she said. Then, reaching forward, she pressed a button on the edge of her vid display, and with a sharp flash, the communication screen went black.


	17. WEEK TWELVE, Pt.1

The vidcomm meeting with Admiral Hackett had been a short one, with Hackett starting in on his request barely seconds after connecting, not even bothering to lead with formalities. "Commander," he had addressed her, clasping his hands sternly behind his back. "The turian fleet is stretched thin. We need more support ships, and the quarians are willing to talk if you will meet with them at their current location in the Far Rim."

"Understood, Sir," Shepard had returned, nodding assuredly. "I'll look into it."

"Be careful, Commander," Hackett had warned her. "We've got reports of instability along the geth border. Hackett out." And with that, he had severed the connection, ending the conversation.

The talks with Hackett were getting shorter and shorter, something Shepard figured probably had to do with him being too busy overseeing the building of the Crucible to have time for long, drawn-out chats. Exiting the comm room, she made her way towards the cockpit, running Hackett's request over and over in her mind. She knew she had to go to the Citadel in order to pick up a better fitting suit of armour, but the Far Rim was on the opposite side of the galaxy from the Serpent Nebula. Going to the Citadel first would only waste time and fuel, as the crew had plenty of food, ammunition, and other supplies. Plus, with Thane and Ashley both already securely aboard, there was really no other reason for them to visit the Citadel that would not sound both contrived and extremely suspicious.

Shoving her hands defeatedly into the pockets of her hoodie, Shepard came to stand beside Joker at the controls, staring out through the panoramic window into the broad, starry expanse of space. "Some view, huh, Commander?" Joker asked, looking up at her amicably. "Never gets old. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"

"We need to head out to the Far Rim," Shepard told him, straightforwardly. "Hackett wants us to arrange a meeting with the quarians to see if we can convince them to join our cause. Hopefully bolster our troops." Letting out a soft sigh, she brushed her bangs distractedly away from her eyes. "Lord knows we need all the help we can get," she added, almost an undertone.

"That shouldn't take too long," Joker told her, pulling up a holographic map on his control screen and selecting the nearest relay point, tracing the slingshot path between systems with his finger until he arrived at the Far Rim. "Just one, two… two jumps, maybe three if we run into a problem with one of them. With intermittent STL travel between relay points, it should only take us a few days at the most."

"What about with a detour?" Shepard suddenly asked, turning to look at him for the first time. "A quick stop. Just to pick up a few supplies along the way. There's got to be commercial civilization somewhere in this part of the galaxy."

"Beats me," Joker admitted, shrugging and looking up at her apologetically. "Anything apart from Illium and the Citadel is more than I'm aware of, and Illium's pretty much a bust these days. You guys said so, yourselves. We can always head back towards the Citadel if you really need supplies—"

"No, no," Shepard cut him off, shaking her head vehemently. "I don't want to head back towards the Citadel. We don't have time for that. I was hoping we could find someplace along the way to stop for supplies, but if there's nowhere in this area…"

"There are two locations between the Omega Nebula and the Far Rim where shopping is feasible," EDI suddenly piped up, turning to look at the two of them. "The first is Ekuna, a desert planet with a high gravitational field inhabited mainly by elcor, and the second is Boro, an extremely cold planet inhabited mainly by volus. Both have had reports of pirate activity, but both are civilized and have merchants with stores with legitimate stock." She blinked, helpful, before offering them a stiff, awkward little smile. "Which one would you like to set a course for, Shepard?" she asked, pulling up a screen of her own.

Shepard paused, considering her options. "Ekuna," she finally decided. "Set us on a course for that. We'll make a quick stop there before heading on to the Far Rim."

"Aye-aye, Commander," Joker acknowledged, pulling up the galaxy map again and rerouting the course. "One shopping stop to Ekuna." Then, turning to look back at Shepard again, he added, "Aren't you glad we have EDI around? Neither of us would have figured that out without her."

"I am sure Shepard would have figured it out eventually," EDI joked, turning her attention back to her controls as well. "Perhaps once we had already passed the Phoenix Massing… but eventually."

* * *

Shepard had just finished adding the last details to her newest model ship when she received the word from Joker that the Normandy had entered the Salahiel system and was quickly approaching Ekuna. Blowing on the ship to help it to dry a bit faster, she set it carefully aside on her desk, sliding out her chair and pushing herself to her feet. She was finding this harder and harder to do, as she had already raked her stomach across the edge of her desk more than once while trying to get up. It was an unnerving feeling, and entirely unpleasant, and so she had taken extra care after that to push her chair out twice as far as she thought she needed to in order to get up without touching anything again. Once she had managed to get up out of her chair, she brought her foot up to the seat, massaging her swollen ankle and resting her chin frustratedly against her knee as she did so.

"I hate pregnancy," she muttered, pushing her thumbs coaxingly into the tender red flesh of her ankle and giving a frustrated grunt of effort when the throbbing sensation refused to go away. "How do some people do this more than once? No _fucking_ thank you." Realizing that her efforts were apparently in vain, Shepard retrieved her foot from the chair, letting out a heavy, long-suffering sigh as she set it back on the floor, staring down at her angry-looking, enflamed pink bare feet. "Fantastic," she breathed, annoyed. Aching feet, tender breasts, a sore back, and a bladder that never felt entirely empty were the absolute last things she wanted to deal with right now, especially when they all coincided with what was already shaping up to be the biggest, most difficult war the galaxy had ever seen.

Right now, as things were, she had no idea how she could be expected to lead her troops into battle when she could barely lead herself from the top to the bottom level of the Normandy without having to stop for a bathroom break somewhere inbetween.

Dropping down onto her bed, she pulled a pair of socks from her nightstand, slipping them on, before grabbing up her boots from beside her bed and pulling them on as well. Taking her hoodie from where it hung in her closet, she pulled it on, zipping it up over the small baby bump showing through her undershirt and checking her appearance to make sure nothing was showing. Satisfied that she was sufficiently covered, she pressed the intercom button beside her closet, waiting for the sound of Joker's breathing on the other end. "Joker," she told him. "I'm about ready to head down. Tell everyone that if they want anything from the surface they can send me a message and I'll try to get it for them."

"That's generous of you, Commander," Joker told her, sounding a bit amused. "You sure the Alliance won't mind you spending their money on personal stuff? Not that I'm one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but if you're really offering, I've got a list of stuff about a couple gigabytes long…"

"Everyone but you," Shepard told him, chuckling. "I'm serious, though. If you've got a request – a _real_ request – go ahead and send it my way."

"Aw, man," Joker groaned disappointedly, laughing at the conversation despite himself. "Okay, Commander. I'll get the word out. But don't blame me if you get a bunch of weird requests. I'm just the messenger."

"Copy that," Shepard agreed, smiling. Letting go of the intercom button, she checked one last time to make sure she had everything she needed before making one final trip to the bathroom to pee, sliding her omni-tool sensor over the back of her hand, and leaving her quarters to make her way down to the hangar for her ride. When she finally arrived in the hangar, she was surprised to see Garrus already there waiting for her, leaning nonchalantly against the side of the Kodiak as he chatted casually with Cortez, who was busy doing a last-minute check of the exterior fans. Shepard's gait slowed to a cautious crawl as she approached, looking between the two of them, expecting one or the other to explain what was going on and hopefully reassure her that the plan had not changed, but, spotting Shepard approaching the vehicle, Cortez grinned, waving her over and wiping a thin film of sweat from his face.

"Hey, Commander," he greeted her, enthusiastically. "Garrus says he wants to come down planetside with us. The more the merrier, right?"

"If that's okay with you," Garrus added, quickly, looking over at her. "I just figured, rather than bothering you to pick something up for me, I'd head down myself to get it. Save everyone some time and trouble. I wouldn't want to step on any toes, though, so if you've got other plans—"

"It's fine," Shepard said, curtly, cutting over him. "Let's just… head down. We don't have a lot of time to waste."

"You got it, Commander," Cortez agreed, brightly, pulling himself up into the shuttle and settling into the pilot's seat. Shepard was the next to board, followed by Garrus, who purposefully stood on the opposite side of the shuttle from her, watching her intently, as if trying to silently puzzle out what was bothering her. Shepard crossed her arms, making sure to take up as much belligerent space as she could on the shuttle's bench, pointedly not returning Garrus' curious gaze as the Kodiak took off for the surface of Ekuna. The shuttle rattled a bit as it entered the heavy atmosphere, causing Garrus to have to readjust his grip on his overhead handle, before it finally came to a smooth, gradual stop at the designated landing pad. Cortez opened the door with a hiss, allowing his two passengers to exit the shuttle into a short, walled-in walkway, which led to a small, plexiglass-lined docking station manned almost entirely by elcor, with one angry-looking turian sitting at a desk at the far end, entirely preoccupied with whatever was currently scrolling across his screen.

"Helpfully: wrists, please," the first elcor instructed, lumping over towards them on all fours. As soon as Shepard and Garrus had provided their wrists, the elcor sat back on its haunches, reaching into a pouch at its hip and pulling out four thick, metallic-looking bracelets. This seemed to be the turian employee's cue, as he quickly got up from his desk to make his way towards the visitors, sliding the bracelets off of the elcor's thick fingers and wordlessly clipping them into place around each tourist's wrists. "These are your equalizers," the elcor explained as the turian employee activated each bracelet in turn, causing them to whine as a stripe around the centre of each one began to glow blue. "These equalizers use mass effect technology to help you to retain some semblance of familiar gravitational resistance on Ekuna. Please do not attempt to remove them until you are safely back in the welcome station and can be assisted by a professional."

As the equalizers began to reach full power, Shepard could feel a weak magnetic pulse move between each of her bracelets before running through her body, causing her to give an involuntary shiver. She watched in amusement as Garrus did the same, though she could tell he tried hard to hide it. Pushing himself back up onto all fours then, the elcor tilted his head, attempting to look as friendly as possible. "Courteously: enjoy your stay on Ekuna," he told them, before lumbering out of the way, allowing them to pass through the welcome station and into the city.

As soon as they were out of the confined space of the welcome station, Shepard made an immediate turn towards the far end of the open market, splitting off from Garrus as fast as she possibly could. Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, she walked with a determined stride, simply wanting to put as much distance as possible between herself and her turian companion. He knew what she was down there for, or at the very least to the extent that she had told anyone in her crew, but she could not help the striking suspicion that he had only come to Ekuna to try to squeeze in some alone time with her, which was the absolute last thing she wanted right then. She figured that if she were wrong, and he really did just want to pick up some supplies while they were on Ekuna, then there would be no problem with her going her own way and the two of them simply meeting up again when they had finished their shopping. However, she was not in the mood to be cornered at some stall and forced to talk about their personal life, or whatever messed-up semblance of one they might have had.

Glancing over her shoulder to make sure Garrus was not following her, Shepard finally allowed herself to slow down, her pace dropping to a casual stroll as she continued to make her way through the scattered stallfronts of the open Ekuna market. She felt a bit guilty running off on her companion like that, but at the same time, she did not want to have to explain to him why she was specifically looking for a larger size of armour in a heavy duty build. Scanning the shops that lined the open street she now found herself on, it did not take her long to find a stand with armour on display, and she approached the storefront tentatively, not wanting to seem too interested in the elcor merchant's wares. She knew too well that an eager customer could often be interpreted as someone willing to spend large amounts of money on things they did not need, and she could already feel the elcor's beady eyes on her, watching her as she came closer, silently challenging her casual nonchalance.

"You sell armour here?" Shepard asked, leaning on one hand on the counter and looking around at the elcor's varied wares. She could see at least one set of armour, but it appeared to be made for a quarian, and a small one at that.

"Helpfully: I do sell armour here," the elcor merchant replied, nodding his domed head.

"How many different models do you carry?" Shepard asked, eagerly leaning both elbows on the counter now. "Any specialty sets? Do you offer any degree of customization?"

"I…" the elcor faltered, looking suddenly as uncomfortable as she had ever seen an elcor look. "N-no customization. And very few different models, especially for human armour. In fact, I have mostly… quarian armour in stock, currently." He paused again, snuffling worriedly, before finally admitting, "Embarrassedly: most of my stock is… salvaged. Generally from the refuse yards and trashed ships left on the planet after the quarian squatting period." Shrugging his massive shoulders, he glanced back at the mismatched displays of stock lining his small storefront. "Truthfully: selling salvaged stock is the only way I manage to break even most of the time," he told her, sadly. "Not a lot of visitors to Ekuna, and those we do get don't have a lot of credits to spare. This war has hit everyone pretty hard."

Shepard hesitated, unsure how to respond to this revelation. "Well, do you have _any_ human armour?" she finally asked, hopefully. "Even something secondhand would work at this point. I don't really need something fancy, I just need _something_."

"I might have something like what you're looking for, actually," the elcor told her, turning to look at her again, observantly. "I do have _some_ non-salvaged stock. What exactly kind of human armour are you in the market for?"

"Well, preferably something heavy-duty," Shepard answered quickly, making an indicative, weighted gesture at her shoulders. "Something with some bulk to it. Not necessarily in the market for something super flashy or professional, just… something that looks _weighty_. Do you have anything like that?"

"Inquisitively: you're only looking for something aesthetic?" the elcor asked, narrowing his beady eyes at her. "You want something that just _looks_ like it will sustain heavy damage, not necessarily something that _will_ sustain heavy damage?"

"I mean," Shepard faltered, letting her hands drop back to her sides. "Ideally, I'd like it to be able to sustain _some_ damage. But I don't necessarily need something that would render a biotic shield worthless. If that makes sense."

"Understandingly: it makes perfect sense," the elcor returned, nodding again. "Helpfully: I think I might actually have something that would interest you. I've been holding onto it for a while, waiting for the right person to take it off my hands. Let me go get it for you, and you can see if it's what you're looking for." With a groaning sound, the elcor pushed himself away from the counter of his stand, dropping down onto all fours, and shambled away from her towards the back of the mercantile stand. He returned a few moments later pulling a large crate behind him with one hand, limping awkwardly over to the counter with the other three limbs before reaching it and squatting back onto his haunches again, letting out a soft, snorting sigh as he did so.

Pulling the box up onto the counter with ease, he pried off the lid and set it on the dirt floor of the mercantile stand, letting her take a look at the contents inside the box. "Informative: I bought this set several years ago," the elcor explained as Shepard pulled a stiff, brand-new undersuit from the box and began to inspect it. "One of the first of its line. I thought I would be making an excellent investment getting in a brand-new, top-of-the-line set of human armour not available almost anywhere else…" The elcor trailed off, sighing heavily as he watched Shepard set the undersuit to one side to continue investigating the contents of the crate. "Disappointed: the set they sent was, unfortunately… defective," he told her, glumly. "The style had to be recalled before it could be mass-produced."

"What was wrong with it?" Shepard asked, pulling a thick belt lined with pouches from the box and setting it approvingly aside with the undersuit.

"Frankly: the armour cannot survive a direct hit," the elcor explained, honestly. "The design core is weak. Non-direct hits would do just fine, but any blast stronger than a standard plasma rifle directly to the chestplate would cause the entire set to fall apart." He watched as she pulled a second belt of pouches from the box and laid it aside as well, before giving another agitated grunt. "Frustrated: I was only informed that this design failed safety rating testing _after_ I received it from the manufacturer," he told her. "Once it was brought to their attention that they had sent me a defective unit, they refused to take it back or offer me a refund for the sets. The experience left such a bad taste in my mouth that I have not bothered buying any human armour since. I _still_ haven't been able to get rid of this set."

"It's a nice set," Shepard conceded, lifting a female breastplate from the box and admiring it. It was a deep beetle grey, the material thick and textured, but she could easily see the design flaw. The welded lines converged in the middle of the chest, making it an easy bullseye for a direct blast to break it apart into clearly-defined pieces. Still, the large, hefty design of the suit as a whole made it hard to pass up. Returning the breastplate to the crate, Shepard looked up at the elcor merchant, raising her brows. "How much were you looking to get for the female set?" she asked, picking up one of the belts and returning it dutifully to the box as well.

The elcor stared down at the crate, snuffling thoughtfully, before looking up at Shepard again, his beady eyes hopeful. "Fairly: I can sell you both sets at half their original price," he told her. "The female and the male. That is the lowest I can go. But you would have to buy both of them."

Shepard hesitated, running her hand over the material of the female undersuit, before picking it up and returning it to the crate as well. "Can I at least try them on before I decide?" she asked, looking up at the merchant. "Is there someplace I can see if they fit me before I…?"

"Of course," the elcor returned, nodding his bulbous head. "Helpfully: the tent behind my shop is mostly used for storage, but my stock has been low lately so it should have plenty of room for you to change in it. I also happen to have a mirror. I salvaged it from a quarian dump site. I could not sell it because it was broken, but it is still plenty good for casual use. You are lucky."

"Very lucky," Shepard agreed.

"Right this way," the elcor told her, dropping back onto all fours, leaving her to carry the crate. The armor itself was substantial enough, but both sets, along with the robust metal crate they were in, made for one heavy package. Still, Shepard tried to keep her heavy breathing to a minimum as she followed the merchant through the workings of his stand to a tiny tent erected just behind the storefront, not wanting him to think she was so easily tired out. Once they reached the tent, the elcor pushed aside the flap for her, allowing her to duck inside, where she gladly set the crate down again, propping her hands on her hips as she took a quick look around.

The tent seemed secluded enough to change in, the foundation well-grounded and the door hefty enough to not blow open at the first sign of a breeze. Shepard had no real qualms about taking her clothes off in front of people – people were people, skin was skin – but she figured it would probably be in her best interest not to create an exhibitionist scene on an unfamiliar planet in the middle of an important war where she was meant to be a figurehead. Nodding her thanks to the elcor merchant, she turned instead towards the full-length mirror sitting in the corner of the tent, noting the large, horizontal crack running the length of it from one side of the frame to the other. It was a small mirror, clearly intended for someone smaller than herself, but she figured she could still get a clear idea of how well her armour fit even if she could not see every bit of her own reflection.

Pulling her hoodie up over her head, she draped it over a nearby stack of boxes, following it first with her boots, and then her pants. She let out a soft, almost involuntary sigh of relief as her pants came off, allowing her to breathe much easier as the tightness around her midriff was released. Checking her reflection in the mirror, she frowned, running a tentative hand over the noted curve of her stomach, visible even under her thin undershirt. Then, turning away from the mirror again, she instead bent down to the crate of armour, pulling out the female undersuit and stepping into it.

The female undersuit, while not nearly as uncomfortably tight as her current suit, was still a big snug around the middle, making her have to take a deep breath in before forcing the zipper up all the way. When she breathed out again, she could feel the stiff material pressing up against her abdomen, but when she checked her reflection in the mirror, she found that it did not show nearly as much as she had feared it might. In fact, while she could not deny the creeping discomfort of the suit's tautness against her stomach region, she had to admit that it did a commendable job of hiding her girth. Still, she knew that this undersuit would not last her forever, and so, unzipping the suit, she set it aside beside the armour crate, fishing the male undersuit out of the box and stepping into it instead.

The male cut undersuit was significantly larger than the female one, and did not take much effort at all to zip up the back. It had clearly been made for someone wider and taller than she was, as the stitching at the shoulders slid down at least half an inch on each arm, causing her to have to push the sleeves up to be able to use her hands. The male undersuit was made of the same stiff, dependable material as the female cut, and its looseness allowed her much more freedom to move around, but the downside came when she checked her reflection in the mirror and found that the undersuit's forgiveness also allowed her waistline to extend comfortably outward, making her baby bump painfully visible in the shapeless suit.

"Shit," Shepard sighed, running a worrying hand over her stomach again. It was not something that would draw immediate attention to her condition should a casual onlooker spot her out of armour, but the fact that she could actually see it now where she had to look for it before still worried her. Turning away from the mirror, Shepard began to dig in the crate again, pulling out the larger of the two abdominal guards and strapping it around her waist, pulling it just tightly enough that she would still be able to easily bend while wearing it. Then, satisfied that her abdomen was sufficiently covered, she heaved the breastplate from the box, pulling it on over her head and securing it into place over the abdominal guard. The shoulder-guards were next to be added, followed by the upper-arm and forearm guards, before she returned her attention to the crate of armour, finally pulling out both of the artillery belts with a satisfied grin like a child set free in a candy store.

If nothing else, these belts had been what had really sold her. Clipping one of the belts securely around her hips, she then attached the other, smaller one around her waist, setting to work adjusting it so that it sat comfortably over her stomach, all but hiding the curve from sight. Just then, the sound of shifting material made her turn on her heel just in time to see Garrus ducking his tall form through the doorflap of the tiny, makeshift tent, and she quickly yanked the strap of the abdominal guard, pulling it as tightly as possible, knocking out her own breath a bit in the process. Straightening to his full height again, Garrus looked around at the odd little storage unit, and as soon as his gaze came to rest on Shepard, he paused, before letting out a short snort of laughter, bringing up a clawed hand to cover his mouth, albeit a bit too late.

"Shepard," he commented, trying to sound as casual as possible. "You look…" He faltered, giving her a telling once-over, his mouth hanging open as he tried to figure out how to put his feelings into words. "…Prepared," he finally concluded. "Or, at the very least, I doubt you'll run out of ammo ever again."

"Very funny, Garrus," Shepard smirked, deadpan, trying to hide her panic as she turned around to look at her reflection in the cracked mirror again. "I'll be sure to keep that smart remark in mind if you ever run out of ammo in the field and come begging me for a reload."

"Oh, now, there's no need to be cruel," Garrus joked back, moving over towards the mirror and sitting down on a nearby crate. Leaning down, he rested his elbows casually against his knees, watching her as she examined her appearance in the full-length mirror. "You look fine, Shepard. Carrying a little extra weight never hurt anyone."

Shepard blanched, freezing momentarily as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, biting back the sudden, overwhelming urge to check if she were still showing. Between the hefty build of the armour and the double line of pouches, she had been certain that everything had been sufficiently covered, but his offhanded comment had her just about ready to bolt. Still, she quickly regained her composure, lifting her short hair from the line of her neck to admire the reinforced neck-guard, turning her head to make sure she still had a full visual radius within its confines. "You're just jealous they don't make this model in turian fit," she told him, letting her hair fall back down. Then, turning to look back at him again, she propped an inquisitive hand on her hip, frowning a bit. "How did you find me here, anyway?" she asked, her gaze moving from Garrus to the flap of the tent, and then back to Garrus again. It was completely closed now, and had been completely closed when he had first come in, meaning there was no way he could have seen her changing from the street.

Garrus shrugged, nonchalantly, and shifted a bit in his seat on the crate to make himself more comfortable. "Easy," he told her. "I just listened for the sound of suspiciously specific justifications for otherwise arbitrary activities and followed that."

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean," Shepard told him, turning to look at her reflection again.

"Then I'm sure it's just standard procedure to tell everyone in the entire crew exactly _how_ you ripped your undersuit and _where_ ," Garrus pointed out, sitting up again to cross his arms and prop one ankle across the opposite knee. "That's not the Shepard I know. The Shepard I know would just say 'I need to get something' and that would be the end of it." He paused, allowing his statement to sink in. Then, sighing softly, he tilted his head to one side, empathetically. "There's something else you're not telling everyone, and that's okay," he told her, shaking his head. "You don't have to tell us if you don't want to. Just don't presume that we're too dumb to know when something is actually wrong. We can always tell, Shepard."

"Garrus…" Shepard sighed, dropping her gaze to the ground. She faltered, gritting her teeth, deciding how much she wanted to say. Then, turning to look back at him again, she raised her brows, hopeful. "I promise, I'm just here for a new set of armour," she told him. "I appreciate you and everyone else worrying about me, but… there's really nothing to worry about. I swear. I just busted up my armour and needed a new set. That's all there is to it."

Garrus stared at her, clearly not believing what she was saying. Then, letting out another soft, defeated sigh, he shrugged, finally allowing the subject to drop. Satisfied that an uncomfortable situation had been successfully avoided, Shepard turned her attention back to the crate of armour again. With her abdominal guard tightened all the way, it was a bit harder to bend down to the crate, but she still managed to pull a knee-guard from its depths, which she quickly set to locking it into place, bending her leg back behind her to test that the gearwork allowed for fully functional mobility.

"Did you find what you were looking for, by the way?" she asked, satisfied with the functionality of the knee-guard. Returning to the crate for the next piece of armour, she pulled out a hefty boot, which she placed on the ground, followed by another. Not even bothering to try to squat, she simply sat herself down on the floor, pulling the armoured boots over her socked feet, locking them into place one at a time. As with the rest of the suit, the boots were a bit big for her normal size, but she figured if it came down to it she could always mix and match parts and pieces with her other, smaller set. Her teammates would just have to deal with her field armour having a slight colour discrepancy.

Garrus nodded, watching with detached interest as she put on the boots, before standing up again and checking how they looked in the mirror. "More or less," he admitted, offhandedly. "I mean, I didn't really come down with anything in mind. I mostly just browsed." He took in a deep breath then, before lifting his chin and looking up at her, intently. "I _had_ come down here with the intent to spend a little more time with you," he admitted, pointedly. "But once we got down here, I figured you probably wanted some alone time. I… could kind-of tell from how you _booked it_ first thing after we got our equalizers."

"Sorry about that," Shepard apologized, sheepishly. "I was just… I had a lot on my mind."

"Anything you want to talk about?" Garrus offered.

"Not really," Shepard answered, quickly. Gripping the edge of the crate, she strained to pull herself upright, finally managing to drag herself to her feet before turning away from Garrus again and frowning as she rested her hands on her hips, staring intently at her reflection in the mirror. She barely recognized herself anymore; dark, ringed circles peered out from under her green eyes, and though her neck and shoulders had thinned a bit from poor diet and lack of sleep, her once clearly-cut jawline had softened. Her swollen ankles made small, sore bulges in the legs of the undersuit, causing the armoured boots to squeeze gently against the flesh, just uncomfortably enough to make her wonder if this larger size of boot might not be a better fit after all. Most notable of all, however, was her profile. Even in her armour, with her undersuit pushing everything together, her midriff had still filled out to more than before, despite the new, better-fitting abdominal guard. Her sleek, toned stomach was gone, replaced with something nearly one and a half times its original size.

Resisting the urge to grimace at her changing anatomy, Shepard dropped her hands to her sides again, digging the toe of her boot into the ground in worried thought. Then, turning away from the mirror again, she looked back at Garrus, who was staring intently at something on the ground, paying no attention to her dilemma. "Did you mean what you said?" she suddenly asked, causing him to look up at her, curious. "The other day. In the gun battery."

Garrus hesitated, surprised by the question, blinking a few times as he tried to think of an appropriate response. "About what?" he finally asked, trying hard not to smile through his query. "About Gardener's food looking suspicious? I mean, it was meant as a joke, but if I'm being honest…"

"No, not that," Shepard answered, shaking her head and holding back a half-smile at his teasing. "Not Gardener. About, you know… us. About marriage, and… a baby."

At this, Garrus paused, his smile fading from his face a bit as he considered how to respond to what seemed to be a loaded question. "Well, I mean… I was just being facetious about the baby thing, of course," he finally answered, candidly. "I know there's no such thing as a baby for us, unless we were to adopt."

Shepard hesitated, folding her arms across her ribcage and digging the heel of her boot anxiously into the dirt floor of the tent. " _Would_ you be… interested in adopting?" she finally asked, raising her brows, attentive.

"Well… sure," Garrus answered automatically, shrugging his plated shoulders, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "There's bound to be plenty of orphans left over after this war lets up. Plenty of kids in need of homes for us to choose from."

Shepard nodded, understandingly. "And… what about marriage?" she asked, resisting the urge to wince at the word.

"What about it?" Garrus returned, testing her.

Shepard shrugged, dismissively, turning her attention to the mirror again. "Would you… I don't know," she said, turning to examine her side view while trying her hardest to sound offhanded. "Would you… still be interested in that?"

Garrus considered this for a moment, thoughtful. Then, finally, he let out a soft, decisive exhale. "Well… yeah, sure," he told her, nodding agreeably. "I mean, I'd be interested in getting married. Once this war is over, of course." Here, he paused, before frowning up at her, faintly. "I didn't really think you were into that sort of thing, though," he admitted. "I think I remember you specifically telling me once how you thought marriage was 'antiquated' and 'ritualistic'. Or am I remembering incorrectly?"

"No, you're right," Shepard agreed, nodding. "I did say that. And you're also right that it's not really my thing."

"So then why do you ask?" Garrus asked, inquisitive.

Shepard shrugged, turning the other way in her reflection, before facing the mirror head-on and opening one of the pouches at her waist, poking her finger around inside to check the depth of it. "Just… curious, is all, I guess," she finally said, closing the pouch again, satisfied.

Garrus considered this for a moment, watching her, as if expecting some sort of follow-up to this vague explanation. Then, finally seeming to realize that he was not going to get anything else out of her, he let out a short, defeated huff of breath. "Hm," he grunted, not entirely satisfied but not wanting to press the matter. "Well, you know what they say. Curiosity destroyed the cat."

Shepard turned to look back at him again, opening her mouth, prepared to correct him, but then, reconsidering, she closed it again, instead letting out a soft, sated sigh and returning her attention to her reflection in the broken mirror. "…Close enough," she conceded.

* * *

Shepard had gladly taken Cortez up on his offer of helping her to carry the heavy crate of armour from the Kodiak up to her quarters. On most days she would have insisted she do it herself, but today she figured she should at least _try_ to seem like she was being sociable with her crew. Too many people had pointed out to her that she was starting to become edgy and antisocial, and Cortez was a good man, too good to feel like she might have had some sort of arbitrary prejudice against him for whatever reason. Cortez chatted casually with her as they waited for the Normandy elevator to take them to the topmost floor of the ship, telling her all about the improvements he and Vega had made to the Kodiak, and when they reached her quarters she let him head inside first to set the crate down on the floor beside her bed.

Cortez admired her cabin for a bit, complimenting her impressive model ship collection and cooing genially at her hamster, before finally offering her a quick, parting salute and returning to the elevator to make his way back down to the hangar and continue his work. It had never really occurred to Shepard before how few members of her crew had ever actually seen the inside of her cabin – she had always had something of an open door policy, allowing crew members to come and go more or less as they pleased. However, many of them had apparently decided not to take her up on the invitation, instead preferring to stay in their more immediate comfort areas. Pushing the heavy crate closer to her armour closet, Shepard sat down on her bed with a sigh, resting her booted foot against the edge of the box and staring idly down at her stomach, hidden from sight under the bulk of her hoodie.

"What am I going to do with you?" she mused. Laying back on the bed, she stared up at the clear-panelled ceiling, watching the waves of stars drifting above her cabin with an almost detached captivation, before pushing up her hoodie and letting her hands rest, peacefully, over her stomach. "You know I can't keep you," she added, quietly, more to herself than anyone else. She paused then, passing her thumb thoughtfully over the curve of her stomach as she continued to stare up at the expanse of space. "…But what if I did?" she suddenly asked. "What if I kept you anyway? Who would stop me?" The answer immediately came to mind: Hackett, Javik, the Council… any number of people who depended on her to do her job, and do it without distraction. After all, she had not become the first human Spectre by doing what she felt was best for _her_.

Pulling her hoodie down over her stomach again, she frowned, letting her hands fall to rest on either side of her on the bed. The more she thought about the situation, the more she resented the idea that the prestigious title she had once regarded so highly as a mark of her accomplishments now seemed to be welding her in place, forcing her into a position of militaristic selflessness so absolute that it made no room for her to exist outside of her identity as a Spectre. Giving the crate of armour at her feet a frustrated, almost child-like kick, Shepard coaxed herself up into a sitting position again, letting out a hard, agitated huff of breath, before pushing herself up off the bed and making her way for the door of her cabin. She wondered how hard it would be to convince Gardener to fix her something simultaneously sweet and salty to hopefully curb the urges she had been finding harder and harder to ignore for the past several days.

If nothing else, she figured, it was at least worth a try to ask.

* * *

It took only a day or two for them to get from the Phoenix Massing cluster to the Far Rim, just as Joker had predicted, and it did not take much longer after their arrival for them to find the quarian envoy ship waiting patiently for them in the exact spot they said they would be. Shepard paced the war room anxiously, looking up at the door every so often as she waited for Shala'Raan and the rest of the Admirals to arrive. Though she knew the quarian Admiralty board to be an undisputed group of military professionals, she still found the idea of trying to negotiate anything solid with them to be unpleasant, as each of them had strong resolutions of their own and no apparent qualms in sharing them at any given opportunity. What might have started as a debate on one topic could easily be sidetracked into something else entirely in a matter of minutes.

At the sound of the war room door sliding open, Shepard looked up, folding her arms thoughtfully as she watched the Admirals filing in, with Shala'Raan taking the lead and Daro'Xen holding up the back. Upon entering the war room, the Admirals quickly spread out, taking up positions at intervals along the perimeter of the holographic war console, with Shala'Raan willingly taking the position closest to Shepard. "Commander Shepard," she greeted her, raising a hand in salutation. "It's good to see you again… though I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Same," Shepard agreed, a bit taken aback by the solemn tone the meeting seemed to be taking on from the get-go. "I'd hoped for your support in the fight against the Reapers… what's going on?"

Without bothering to answer her question, Han'Gerrel instead pulled up his omni-tool, entering a command into it, before pressing the reader on the back of his hand to a small, built-in scanner on the war console's hub, allowing it to sync. Instantly the holographic display flashed, humming faintly as it read the new information, before flickering back into life, now displaying what looked to be a fleet of small, mismatched, but familiar-looking ships. "Seventeen days ago, with precision strikes on four geth systems, the quarians initiated the war to retake our homeworld," Gerrel reported, frankly, allowing his omni-tool to flicker out again.

"Which was a clear violation of our agreement with the council to avoid provoking the geth!" Rael'Koris put in, exasperated, causing Shepard to look in his direction. Already it seemed that the board's personal prejudices were going to make this just as long a meeting as she had initially feared. Still, she figured there was no harm in letting them air their differences here at the beginning, as long as it did not continue throughout the entirety of the conference.

"A treaty violation is nothing compared to recovering our homeworld and advanced AI technology," Daro'Xen was quick to point out, turning to look at Koris, irritatedly.

"Your homeworld?" Shepard asked, turning to look at Xen now, interested. "You mean Rannoch?"

"Correct, Commander," Raan answered, gently, drawing her attention away again. "Three hundred years ago, we lost a war to our own AI creations, the geth."

"After we attempted to kill them," put in Koris, bluntly.

At this, Xen heaved a heavy, long-suffering sigh. "We didn't try to _kill_ them, Koris," she corrected, sounding almost as if she were disappointedly scolding a child for spilling something messy. "We tried to _deactivate_ them. It wasn't _murder_."

Shepard frowned, finding herself immensely bothered by something in Xen's tone but unable to place exactly what it was. "No," she told her, shaking her head, resolutely. "It was murder."

"Commander," Raan pleaded, causing Shepard to turn her way again. "The quarians never intended to create a true AI. It was an accident."

"Which you chose to correct by trying to kill them," Shepard returned, unwavering.

"Don't bother," Koris told her, shaking his head as he crossed his arms over his chest, disgusted. "Admitting we were wrong would undercut the justification for this suicidal invasion plan."

At this, Shepard faltered, taking a moment to process this casually-dropped information, before turning to look at Gerrel again, accusatory. "You're throwing yourselves at the geth?" she insisted, harshly. " _Again?_ "

"And this time, we may have destroyed our people for good," Koris agreed, sounding just as appalled by the thought.

Sighing softly, Gerrel pulled up his omni-tool again, inputting a new command. Almost instantly, the holographic display changed, the ships rotating off to one side as the hub was filled instead with the image of a large planet surrounded by small floating ships and a series of indicative, yellow-green points of light. "We'd driven the geth back to the home system when this signal began broadcasting to all geth ships," he told her, pointing to the flashing lights with his free hand.

"The Reapers," Shepard growled, gritting her teeth.

"Under Reaper control, the geth are significantly more effective," Gerrel went on, matter-of-factly. "Our fleet is pinned in the home system. If we're going to win—"

"Win?!" Koris demanded, quickly cutting over him. "You insisted on involving the civilian ships, Admiral Gerrel! We need to retreat or we'll lose the live ships!"

"Where's the signal coming from?" Shepard asked, her attention still fixed on the holographic display.

"Here," Gerrel answered, helpfully, using his omni-tool to zoom in on one particular ship in the display. "The geth dreadnaught. It can outgun anything we've got and it's heavily defended."

Shepard thought a moment, considering the slowly-spinning image of the dreadnaught. "The Normandy's stealth drive can get us in undetected," she finally told him, looking over at Gerrel again, hopefully. "I could board, then disable the Reaper command signal."

"Yes," Xen mused, bringing up a hand to tap thoughtfully at the breathing-cup of her mask. "Cutting off the signal should throw the geth into complete disarray."

"And while they're confused, you get to a mass relay and retreat," Shepard agreed, looking at each Admiral in turn to make sure they understood her instructions.

In return, Koris nodded, satisfied with this turn of events. "Good," he told her, contented. "Our civilian ships have seen too much fighting already. Though, are you certain you can disable the signal?"

"We'll get you out of there safely, Admiral," Shepard assured him, offering a supportive nod in his direction. Just then, the sound of the double-doors of the war room opening again caught her attention, and she looked up just in time to see two more quarian figures appear in the doorway. Raan turned as well, looking back towards the newcomers, before turning back towards Shepard again and putting an embarrassed hand to the side of her mask.

"Oh, Commander," Raan said, suddenly sounding a bit flustered. "I almost forgot. Our newest Admiral has also volunteered to offer technical expertise, and our newest fleet defence Lieutenant Commander has volunteered to offer up his strategic expertise as well, if you need it."

Not even bothering to wait for the end of her introduction, the first quarian entered the war room, followed closely by the second, a much taller quarian dressed all in red who kept his hands tucked respectfully behind his back, allowing the Admiral he followed to take centre stage. "Admiral Tali'Zorah Vas Normandy and Lieutenant Commander Kal'Reegar, reporting for duty," Tali beamed, straightening her thin shoulders proudly.

Shepard faltered, surprised, before raising her brows and smiling back at the mismatched pair. "Glad you could make it, Tali," she told the tiny quarian. "And you too, Reegar. It's been a while since I heard from you. I was afraid you might have died fighting over on Palaven."

"Not dead yet, ma'am," Reegar returned, quiet but genial.

Shepard nodded in approval, before turning her attention towards the rest of the quarian Admiralty board once more. "Admirals, I'll ready a team to hit that Dreadnaught," she told them. "With Kal'Reegar and Tali'Zorah's expertise, we should be ready to go in under a few hours."

"Thank you, Commander," Raan agreed, nodding. Then, with the conversation absolved, she turned away from the war console, followed by the others, who slowly peeled off one at a time to filter out through the war room door and back in the direction of the Migrant Fleet to wait.

Turning her attention towards Tali and Reegar once more, Shepard smirked, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as she approached them. Tali began to approach her as well, Reegar following dutifully behind her, and it did not take long for the two women to meet in the middle, with each giving the other a friendly check over. "Admiral?" Shepard finally asked, breaking the conversational ice.

Tali considered for a moment, before finally shrugging. "It's mostly a formality," she answered, offhandedly. "I'm an expert on the geth."

"That you are," Shepard agreed, smiling. Then, turning her attention to the much taller quarian in red, she gave him a good once-over as well. He appeared professional, as always, but there was something different about him now, something she could not quite place her finger on. "So," she said, grinning up at him, inquisitive. "Commander Reegar. It's got a nice ring to it."

" _Lieutenant_ Commander," Reegar was quick to correct her, giving a short bob of his helmeted head. "Not a Commander just yet, ma'am. Probably not for a while still." He hesitated, before giving a soft, teasing breath of a laugh. "Still have to answer to your authority," he added. "At least for a little while."

"He's so modest," Tali chuckled, reaching back to tap Reegar fondly on the upper arm with the back of her hand. "But in all honesty, he's the best marine we've got, and we're lucky to have him. He's been offered positions elsewhere, all across the galaxy, but he turned them all down to continue working with the Migrant Fleet."

"My research is only half-done, ma'am," Reegar told her, turning his head earnestly. "To abandon it at this point for the sake of personal gain would be irresponsible." Then, looking up again, he shrugged his broad shoulders. "Besides," he added. "The Migrant Fleet is my home. The quarians are my people. I wouldn't dream of abandoning my people when we're right on the brink of an important push to retake the homeworld."

"Which we wouldn't be if not for you," Tali told him, folding her arms comfortably across her ribcage. "In the last six months, Lieutenant Commander Reegar has led countless counterstrikes against attacking geth forces. If not for him, we'd probably still be playing cat and mouse with the geth at this point. It's only because of him we're so close to taking back Rannoch."

"I'm just a soldier, ma'am," Reegar answered, bowing his head, and Shepard could swear he was blushing inside his helmet.

"He still insists on calling me _ma'am_ , though," Tali added, turning her attention back to Shepard, sounding just a bit exasperated, if amused. "No matter how many times I've told him not to, he keeps doing it. Sometimes I wonder if he does it on purpose."

"Old habits die hard," Reegar told her, shrugging innocently. "I'll try to do better next time."

"You won't," Tali told him, looking back at him again.

"Probably," Reegar agreed, sighing. "But at least I'll try, ma'am. Tali. …Ma'am."

"Stop it," Tali insisted, laughing.

"Yes, ma'am," Reegar replied.

" _Stop it_ ," Tali repeated, firmer.

Reegar faltered, looking up at Shepard now, desperately searching her for an idea of what to say now that his go-to response had been taken away. Then, looking down at Tali again, he leaned in towards her, tapping the breathing apparatus of his mask against hers and causing her to lift a shy hand to her helmet, surprised. "Bosh'tet," she murmured, looking away, unable to hide the embarrassed smile in her voice. Then, looking up at Shepard again, she tilted her head, fondly. "I'm glad you're here, Shepard," she told her.

"If I'd known it was this bad, I would have come sooner," Shepard answered, frankly. "I didn't hear anything from anyone in the Migrant Fleet, so I… guess I figured things were doing okay." She bit her lip, trying hard not to make an anxious face. In truth, she had been so distracted with everything else going on that she had completely neglected to do the work of checking up on the Fleet, herself, but Tali merely shrugged, shaking her head and dismissing the apology.

"You've had your own troubles," Tali told her, understandingly. "I'm sorry about Earth. And Palaven. You are still seeing Garrus, right? Is that still going on?" Shepard opened her mouth, preparing to answer, before quickly closing it again, realizing she did not know how. Tali paused, taken aback, before turning to look back at Reegar behind her, almost accusatorily. "Excuse you," she told him, playfully. "This is girl talk."

"I'll leave," Reegar agreed, quickly, before moving past Tali further into the war room, distancing himself from the women and their conversation. Looping her arm through Shepard's, Tali turned the two of them away from the war station, instead leading her out through the door and into the adjoining meeting-room. The glass door of the room slid open to admit them, before gliding quietly closed again once they were inside. Sliding her arm out of Shepard's, Tali moved away from her towards the meeting-table, turning around to push herself up onto it, letting her trim legs dangle over the side.

"Kal is a good person," she suddenly spoke up again, unexpectedly. "I adore him, of course, and I trust him with my life. I just…" She paused again, looking down at the floor and leaning the palms of her hands back against the sleek surface of the meeting-room table. "I don't always feel comfortable discussing war things with him around," she admitted, almost sheepishly. "He's very… amenable, so I feel like I can't be totally honest around him because otherwise he might adapt to my ideologies to try to get along. I like him to think for himself. It keeps things interesting. Keeps him on his toes when it comes to his strategies. If he's just trying to please people… me, I guess… I'm not sure he'll be thinking totally objectively."

"That makes sense," Shepard agreed, leaning against the wall of the meeting-room and folding her arms in return. "He's very intelligent, though, so I don't think you have to worry about that. He just likes to get along, is all. I doubt he would let it interfere with his ability to do his work."

"I guess you're right," Tali agreed, nodding thoughtfully. "Still, it's nice to have some one-on-one time. Men can be so clingy sometimes, you know? I'd always heard that women were the clingy ones."

"It goes both ways," Shepard answered, fairly. "Women can be pretty clingy, too. It's less of a relationship thing, though, and more of a…" She paused, trying to think of a good word for it. "Maybe 'clingy' isn't the right word for it," she finally conceded, shaking her head. "Maybe 'actually wanting the relationship to feel like a relationship when the other person isn't pulling their weight' is a better way to describe it."

"I'll be sure to remember that if I ever end up being in a relationship with you," Tali chuckled.

"I'm a free spirit," Shepard joked back, self-deprecating. "Can't be tied down."

Tali chuckled again, tickled by Shepard's teasing. Then, pushing herself off the table and onto her feet again, she turned away from the Commander, starting towards the wide, panoramic window of the meeting-room. She paused for a moment, thoughtful, as she stared out at the vast expanse of stars, then, letting out a soft sigh, she leaned her hands tiredly against the edge of the window, letting her gaze drop down to the floor. "We've got the largest fleet in the galaxy," she said, solemn, strictly business once again. "If you can help us, we'll hit the Reapers with everything we've got… or, however much is left from this stupid war."

At this, Shepard frowned, uncrossing her arms and pushing herself away from the wall again. "I thought you'd support the invasion," she admitted, moving up to stand behind Tali at the window.

Looking up at the sea of stars again, Tali shook her head. "No," she answered, decisively. "After talking to Legion, I thought maybe there was a chance for peace."

"But wait," Shepard countered. "I thought you were _just_ talking up Kal'Reegar's accomplishments in the field. How—?"

"Kal's accomplishments were not offensive, they were defensive," Tali cut her off, correcting her. "He protected us from strikes the geth were making against us. His actions kept us safe. He did not order any measures that were not necessary for the continued wellbeing of the fleet." Going silent again, she shrugged, staring intently at the starry sky outside the meeting-room window. "Kal claims to be a soldier, but he's a scientist at heart," she went on, quieter. "He believes in a peaceful war just as much as I do. He wants to retake the homeworld just as much as anyone else, but not as a bloody spoil of war. He just wants someplace to finish his research and help people. That's all he's ever wanted."

"So why are _you_ helping them?" Shepard asked, confused.

"I'm an Admiral," Tali told her, fairly, turning to look at her again. "People look to me for guidance. A disagreement would divide the fleet." Here, she paused, faltering, uncertain, before looking at the ground with a soft, overwhelmed sigh. "Keelah," she breathed. "I wish it were not all so difficult."

Reaching out, Shepard ran an encouraging hand up Tali's thin upper arm, causing the petite quarian to look up at her, surprised. "I'll get your people out of here safely, Tali," Shepard promised, offering a reassuring smile.

Tali hesitated, staring uncertainly at the Commander, before her glowing eyes finally narrowed through her helmet in what Shepard guessed was a comforted smile. "Thanks, Shepard," she said, reaching up a hand to rest on top of Shepard's on her arm. "And… just so you know, I need to keep things strictly business in front of the Admirals, but I'd love to catch up on other things later. Somewhere a little more private."

"Sure thing," Shepard agreed, retrieving her hand.

At this reassurance, Tali nodded, grateful. Then, taking a deep, readying breath, she squared her thin shoulders, lifting her head determinedly. "I'm ready to hit that dreadnaught whenever you are, Shepard," she told her.

"Good," Shepard answered, jerking her thumb indicatively over her shoulder. "Let's go."


	18. WEEK TWELVE, Pt.2

"Commander, we've located the Reaper base transmitting the local signal."

Shepard looked up, pulled abruptly from her train of thought. With everything that had happened between the last time she had stood in this war room and now – most notably, the played-by-ear infiltration of the geth dreadnaught and subsequent attack on the vessel while Shepard and her crew were still inside – it was hard not to get sidetracked thinking about it. Her discussion with Hackett on the matter had been short and unsatisfactory, with her expressing frustration at Admiral Gerrel's continued rash actions and him quickly shutting her down with the reminder that they needed the quarians' help if they wanted to win the war against the Reapers. It had not helped that she had also found herself outargued by the Admiralty board when she tried to express the same frustration to them, finally having to back down from her accusations in order to retain whatever semblance of her dignity and frazzled nerves she still had left.

Now, Shala'Raan stared expectantly at her from the far edge of the war console, keeping a notably wary distance from Legion, who stood across the console from her, also watching Shepard intently. Crossing her arms, Shepard nodded, bringing herself up to speed on the conversation. "Good," she conceded. "That's good."

"And not a moment too soon," Raan added, content that Shepard was paying attention to what she was saying as she turned to look at the hologram display again, worriedly. "With the Reapercode upgrades, the geth are tearing the fleet apart."

"Didn't you say they have a planetary defence canon?" Shepard asked, her brow furrowing faintly. "Wouldn't it be a good idea to think about taking that out, too, while we're at it?"

"It has already been taken care of, Commander," Raan informed her, solemnly, turning to look up at her again. "Admiral Koris sacrificed his own ship to destroy it. He crash-landed on the home world, along with one of our top geth scientists, Dorn'Hazt."

Shepard paused, surprised that she recognized the name. "Dorn'Hazt?" she asked, taken aback. "As in Jona'Hazt?"

"As in his father, yes," Raan confirmed. "Poor Jona's mother died last year in that geth research ship fiasco with Rael'Zorah… if we can prevent him from losing his father as well, it would be…" Taking a deep breath, she held it in for a moment, thinking, before letting it out again in a long, low sigh. "…Preferable," she said. "I realize it's not likely, but… when you do head to Rannoch, please keep an eye out for him if you would, Commander. Too many quarian youth have lost their parents to this war."

"I'll do what I can," Shepard agreed, nodding in return. "And the Normandy can definitely assist with any other necessary rescue efforts as well. Once I'm planetside, just give Joker the approximate coordinates and we'll try to get as many of your people back to safety as possible."

"Thank you, Commander," Raan returned. "Thankfully, I think the worst is already over. The geth no longer possess the programming upgrades they had while enslaved by the Reapers. If we can also manage to take out the local base—"

"Once the signal is disabled, the geth will pose no threat to Creator forces," Legion assured her, finishing her thought for her, before turning his head to look over at Shepard, as if for approval. Shepard paused, returning the look, before moving away from the door of the war-room and coming to stand by Legion at the console. She folded her arms in thought again as she looked up at the large, slowly-spinning hologram of the quarian homeworld, before turning to look at Legion and frowning, concerned.

"You sound conflicted," she told him, doubtfully.

Legion hesitated, the flaps circling his flashlight face shifting uncertainly, as if considering how to respond. "While the Old Machines have… unethical purposes, their upgrades have vastly improved our people," he finally explained, his electronic voice halted, almost tentative. "Observe." Typing something into a keypad on the war hub, he pulled up a large, circular hologram on the display, inside which flashed a singular, pulsing signal light.

"The geth processing signal," Raan commented, intrigued. "A single unit, I believe."

"Correct," Legion answered, his face-flaps fluttering elatedly. "Now, ten nearby units networked cooperatively—" Typing something else into the console, Legion looked up as the image changed, this time adding more pulsing points, each one sending out thin beams of light to the others, the lights zigzagging capably between each point. "…And now, a single geth unit with the Old Machine upgrades," he said, typing in another alteration. This time, the image changed altogether, the circular structure turning a deep red as the signal points and zigzagging beams converged into what looked to be some sort of organically-shaped root-type structure.

"That's a fully-evolved AI," Raan pointed out, sounding startled by the revelation.

"Yes," Legion agreed, straightforwardly. "We do not agree with the goals of the Old Machines, but we find this growth… beautiful. Indicative of life."

Shepard stared in awed silence up at the glowing red projection, watching the small, almost electricity-like lights pulse between each of the geth consciousness' winding curves, not even noticing as her hand came to rest subconsciously over her stomach as she did so. "…It is," she agreed, quietly. "Legion. It is beautiful."

"Commander," Raan scolded, turning to look at her, surprised.

Snapping quickly back to reality, Shepard hurriedly dropped her hand to her side again, turning to look at Raan and feeling an anxious, almost sickening blush start to billow to the tips of her ears. She hoped Raan had been too distracted by the idea of a fully-formed AI to notice anything unusual, but silently cursed her own sentimentality anyway as she gritted her teeth, balling her hand into a fist at her side. "Come on, Admiral," she shot back, a bit harsher than she had really intended. "You can't really be so heartless. That's a living creature, no matter what platform it's running on."

"And they will die when we destroy the base," Legion added, sadly.

"They allied with the Reapers," Raan returned, heatedly, leaning on the war console towards Legion.

"To save themselves from you," Legion countered, just as effectively.

"Maybe they don't have to die," Shepard suggested, hopefully.

"Just because this one appears friendly…" Raan started to warn, but Shepard was quick to cut her off.

" _This one_ hasn't fired on a ship with me aboard it," she informed her, pointedly. Sighing heavily, she stuffed one hand into the pocket of her hoodie, using the other to massage her forehead in frustration. "All I'm saying is that maybe… maybe they don't all have to die," she said, looking up at Raan again and extending her hand, hopefully. "Maybe we can save them, or at least some of them. It doesn't always have to be one or the other. Sometimes it would be nice if _everyone_ could live for a change."

Raan hesitated, staring at her for a moment, considering, before finally speaking up again. "It is a noble ideal, Commander Shepard," she told her, speaking slowly now, almost suspiciously so. "The idea that the quarians would both get to return to their homeworld and not have to destroy the geth in the process is…" She paused again, looking down, before clearing her throat, softly. "Well," she said, shortly. "It would be _preferable_ , of course, but you also have to consider the facts. You must ask yourself if it would be _realistic_ to have both things at once, when the continued existence of one so clearly negates the projected success of the other."

Shepard frowned, taken aback by the sudden, almost psychosomatic turn of the conversation. Up to this point, Raan and Legion had been talking mostly in facts, but now, suddenly, Raan appeared to have turned the discussion into something that seemed to be equal parts ethical and emotional. "There's no reason one should have to exist without the other," Shepard countered, trying not to sound too confused by the sudden shift in tone. "Geth and quarians lived in peace at one time. If you can learn to live in peace again, _respectfully_ , with the quarians treating the geth as equals and not as slaves—"

"Is that where your problem lies?" Raan asked, cutting over her, tellingly. "Respectful coexistence? You make an excellent point for what it's worth, Commander…" Here she paused again, folding her hands, thinking. "But how can we be expected to be seen by those who look to us, by the entire rest of the galaxy, as anything other than selfish fools if we do decide to let the geth completely rewrite the way we live our lives?" she finally asked, deliberately. "If we sacrifice who we are to make way for their existence among us? How can we be expected to continue living the way we've always done if we have to make such radical changes?"

"So make changes, then," Shepard argued back, starting to get annoyed with Raan's sideways logic that just seemed to be getting stranger with every argument. "Your people created them in the first place, and it was your peoples' unfounded prejudice and neglect that caused them to turn to the Reapers. Who cares what the rest of the galaxy thinks of you? Your people made the mistake – why should they, the ones you made, pay for it?" Leaning her free hand against the sleek metal edge of the console hub, Shepard's frown deepened, vexed. "You caused the problem," she told her, firmly. "And it's your responsibility to make things right."

At this, Raan sighed, shaking her head as her gaze dropped from Shepard to the floor of the war room. "Commander, you are missing the point," she told her, disappointedly. "We did not mean for this problem to occur. Perhaps we should have foreseen the possibility of consequences, but I'm sure we had no way of knowing at the time. As such, it was in none of our plans to have such an… unfortunate outcome."

"That's no excuse—" Shepard started to say, but Raan stopped her again, holding up a hand.

"What I am trying to say is, sometimes things do not go the way they are planned," Raan told her, letting her hand drop back down again. "And sometimes, it can truly be better for everyone involved if the consequences for those actions are merely circumvented, rather than having one's entire existence shifted around to make way to accommodate." Clasping her hands in front of her again, she let out another deep, soft sigh. "It is a sad truth, but in order to achieve the greater good, sometimes hard sacrifices must be made," she went on, frankly. "And sometimes living things will get hurt, or even killed. If the geth have to die so that all of the quarians can live, but that also means the quarians get to return to their homeworld and possibly, one day, build more geth…"

Shepard paused, staring down at her hand on the console for a long, silent moment. Then, looking up at Raan again, she fixed her with a hard, telling stare. "We aren't talking about the geth and the quarians anymore, are we?" she asked, solemnly.

"How far along are you, Commander?" Raan asked, making sure to keep her voice low.

At this question, Shepard felt her blood turn to ice. If all it took for Raan to realize she was expecting was a simple, slipped gesture and a short conversation about the ethics of living beings, she was afraid of how easily others might be able to pick up the same from other, more telling details. She could still hear Javik's stark reminder in the back of her head telling her that her condition could not remain a secret forever, and it seemed that his warning was starting to come true. Stuffing her free hand into the pocket of her hoodie, Shepard gritted her teeth, glancing quickly over her shoulder to make sure Legion was not paying attention to their conversation, before turning her attention back to Raan, her ears quickly beginning to turn a bright, mortified red. "About three months," she muttered, under her breath. "I haven't told anyone, though. Or, nearly anyone. I didn't want anyone to know."

Biting her lip, Shepard ground the toe of her boot into the grated metal floor of the war room, making a pained face, unable to help herself. "Tell me the truth, Raan," she said, feeling her heart begin to flutter anxiously in her chest, dreading the answer to her question. "Is it really that obvious that I'm… I'm…?"

Raan paused, observing her, before finally shaking her head and offering her a gentle, soothing tutting noise. "Not really, no," she answered, truthfully. "I simply have a feeling for these things. A knack, or— a sixth sense, I suppose." Holding out her hands, she rested them reassuringly on Shepard's shoulders with a fond, remembering sigh. "It was the same way with Tali's mother," she told her, chuckling fondly. "I knew she was with child even before she did. She came to me one day complaining of sickness, and I told her then and there that she was having a baby. She denied it, told me there was no way… but of course, she was wrong and I was right. And seven months later, beautiful little Tali was born."

Shepard looked down, trying her hardest to be reassured by this story but finding it hard to keep her pulse from racing with anxiety. Suddenly, she looked up at Raan again, her eyes widening, startled. "You can't tell anyone," she begged her, shaking her head, vehemently. "Please, Raan. Promise me you won't tell anyone."

"I won't tell anyone, Commander," Raan assured her, running her hands comfortingly down the length of Shepard's arms. "You don't have to worry. I would not betray your trust like that." Retrieving her hands again, she folded them peacefully in front of her once more, staring at Shepard for a long, silent moment, observant. Then, taking another deep breath, she leaned in towards her a bit, her voice suddenly taking on a more solemn tone. "Do you know what you plan to do with it?" she asked. "Do you mean to keep the child? Or were you thinking…" Her voice trailed off, her glowing eyes fixed on Shepard for a long time, telling.

Shepard hesitated, meeting her eyes, anxious, before finally shaking her head. "…No," she admitted, quietly. "I don't… I don't know what I'm planning to do with it. I thought I knew, once, but now…" She paused, her gaze dropping, before letting out another soft, worried sigh. "I don't know," she said.

Raan nodded, understanding. Then, taking a step back away from Shepard, she shrugged her shoulders, forgivingly. "I… do not mean to pressure you on the subject," she told her, fairly. "I simply know that there are no easy choices when it comes to matters like this. But if you decide to keep the child, you are welcome to any of the resources we can offer you to that effect once this war with the geth is over. Our clean room is the most sterile place in the entire galaxy, that I know of." Another pause, as she tilted her head forward a bit, thoughtfully. "On the same token," she added, her voice a bit slower this time. "If you decide you would prefer to… not, go through with your term in its entirety, so as to focus on matters… a bit closer to home, as it were…" She trailed off again, moving her helmeted head knowingly to one side. "Our clean room is the most sterile place in the entire galaxy," she repeated, the implication much darker this time. "…That I know of."

At this, Shepard looked up at her again, taken aback. "I—" she started to say, but her answer was quickly cut off by the sound of Traynor's voice filtering in over the intercom system.

"Commander," Traynor reported. "Admiral Garrel has the civilian fleet back in position, and Cortez says the shuttle is ready to head planetside whenever you are. Who would you like me to send down for you?"

Shepard faltered, her expression going momentarily blank as she tried to remember everyone she had on hand to choose from. Her mind was still swimming from Shala'Raan's offer, but she tried her hardest not to look too off-balance as she turned her attention up towards the intercom. "Um… Tali," she decided, the name almost awkward on her numb lips. "And Thane. Tell them to wait for me in the docking bay."

"Will do, Commander," Traynor returned, before severing the comm connection.

Turning her attention back to Raan, Shepard stared at her for a long moment, awkwardly. Raan stared back at her evenly, her hands folded patiently in front of her as she waited for an answer to her question. Then, taking a deep breath, she shook her helmeted head. "You do not have to decide right now," she told her, understandingly, her voice still respectfully low. "I know this is a hard decision. And I know it is not really my business to comment on it. I will not try to persuade you one way or another as far as the right thing to do." She paused again, allowing her proposal to sink in. "But…" she suddenly spoke up again, causing Shepard to look up once more. "Will you at least consider my offer? Whichever way you decide to go with it? You have done so much for us, for our people… the quarians – I – would be more than happy to help out in any way we can."

Shepard frowned, feeling almost trapped by Raan's sudden, unexpected offer. She could still feel her head spinning with the thought of having these resources so readily available to her, making the concept seem almost startlingly real for what felt like the first time since she had found out she was expecting. "I'll…" she started to say. Then, losing her nerve, she instead cleared her throat, pointing over her shoulder towards the exit of the war room.

"I… should go," she told her, weakly.

* * *

The rescue mission to retrieve Koris and his crew had been less than successful. Though Shepard and her party had managed to accomplish taking out whatever artillery the geth still had remaining planetside with a combination of firepower and hacking skills, they had not been similarly effectual in saving the lives of any of the members of the crew apart from Koris, himself. Dorn'Hazt had been far too wounded and weak by the time they found him, propped up against a rock with his mangled legs sprawled out in front of him, for even medi-gel to patch his injuries. When they had tried to help him, he had begged them to tell his son that he had found peace on the homeworld, before taking his last, laboured breaths in Shepard's arms. Koris had been grateful for their rescue efforts and had promised his support in the upcoming Reaper war, but it seemed that their problems on Rannoch were still very much far from over.

The Reaper signal Raan had discovered was not difficult to find, as the coordinates she had provided them with had led them directly to an enormous construct built into the side of a massive rock formation. The structure, which looked to be some sort of colossal geth activity hub station, had once clearly been painted in sterile, militaristic shades of white and silver, but had since turned a murky brown and grey from layers upon layers of Rannoch dust. Having successfully fought their way inside the construct, it did not take long for Shepard and her team to find the source of the Reaper signal, an enormous, heavily-reinforced sinkhole in the heart of the station, covered by two visible layers of thick, impenetrable blast shields. With Legion's help to override the system, they had managed to peel back the blast shields, only to discover that the signal Raan had pinpointed had not simply been an active signal at all – but instead, a real, live Reaper.

Now, the dust cloud kicked up by the fallen Reaper was almost too thick to see through, but Shepard squinted into the murky air, coughing and waving a hand in front of her as she waited for it to clear, until finally it had settled enough for her to see the results of their planetside undertaking. The Reaper lay in a crippled heap at the base of a chasm, letting off a low, sickly buzzing sound as red electricity skipped around its beetle-black surface. A massive, hose-like tube dragged on the rocky ground where it had been shot out of place by the Normandy's orbital guns, leaking a thick, greyish substance that flowed like putrid animal fat. Moving up the slope of the outcropping overlooking the chasm, Shepard looked down on the nearly-dead Reaper, her gun still gripped, ready, between her heavily-gloved hands.

" _Shepard_ ," the Reaper droned. Its voice was a pulsing, electronic bass, a sound Shepard could feel vibrating in the very core of her ribcage, and she gritted her teeth, feeling her resentment threaten to boil over as she watched the pseudosynthetic struggle to retain whatever functionality it still had left.

"You know who I am?" Shepard returned, a white-hot, sickening ball of hatred settling in her stomach as her grip on her gun tightened, ready to fight.

The Reaper whirred, its mechanics grinding together as it fought to retain sentience, before it suddenly opened its targeting eye, letting the slow, red beam come to settle menacingly on Shepard. "Harbinger speaks of you," it told her, speaking sluggishly, almost pained. "You resist… but you will fail. The cycle… must continue."

"What are you talking about?" Shepard insisted, narrowing her eyes, incredulous. "We stopped Sovereign and the geth. We stopped Harbinger and the Collectors. We've earned a straight answer."

"The Collectors…" The Reaper fizzled, letting out a high-pitched sputter as a fountain of yellow-hot sparks peeled down its side. "The Collectors were… an effective force," it buzzed, haltingly. "Mindless, genetically altered soldiers… but their mission was, unfortunately… an ill-advised foray."

"You're just now realizing this?" Shepard demanded, holding out one arm in a gesture of disbelief.

"Not for the reasons… you might believe," the Reaper corrected her, its glowing red eye jumping small points from left to right as it tried to bring her back into focus. "You represent chaos. We represent… order. Every organic civilization must be harvested in order to bring order to the chaos. It is… inevitable." An arc of bright-red electricity crackled from one crippled leg to the next, causing the bright red eye to flicker momentarily, but it quickly returned again, staring at her, intently. "Without our intervention… organics are doomed," the Reaper went on, its digitized voice dark. "We… are your salvation. We tried to preserve your kind… in the only way we knew how, but… we did not… have the knowledge. Our ambition… outweighed our ability. We are not our Creators. We lack the knowledge… to do as they did. Even… Harbinger…"

"What about Harbinger?" Shepard insisted. Hearing the sound of soft footsteps behind her, she turned, watching as Tali approached, intrigued, before turning her attention back to the Reaper, which had begun letting out a low, buzzing thrum.

"Harbinger is the wisest of us," the Reaper told her, its red eye widening as it stared at her, fixedly. "One of the First of our Kind. Harbinger was there in the first Cycle. His knowledge outweighs ours… all of ours." Letting out another loud fizzle, the Reaper vibrated, sinking a bit lower towards the dusty ground, but it still kept its eye locked squarely on Shepard. "We trusted… but rashly," it continued, its voice becoming more laboured as it continued speaking. "Harbinger's ideal of preserving other lifeforms the way our Creators preserved theirs was… idealistic, but… ultimately… ineffectual. Other lifeforms are not… the same as us. We had no knowledge of how to replicate… what our Creators had done. Our efforts were… ultimately… in vain."

"The Human Reaper," Shepard breathed, remembering all too well the monstrosity she and her team had faced off against at the Collector base when she had taken them through the Omega-4 Relay. Turning her attention back to the Reaper again, she gritted her teeth, finding herself even angrier than before with this new information at hand. "So now you're killing everyone in the galaxy to save us?!" she shouted back, her fist tightening indignantly around the grip of her gun. "We have to suffer because you failed to do what you set out to do?!"

"It is a simple resolution," the Reaper explained as another daunting spray of sparks cascaded down its exoskeletal face. "If we cannot control your Kind… we must instead destroy. The cycle must continue. There is… no alternative."

"Organics and synthetics don't have to destroy each other!" Shepard insisted, taking an irate step forward.

"The battle for Rannoch… disproves… your assertion," the Reaper contradicted, its glowing red eye shuddering as it fought to keep its gaze fixed on Shepard.

"Why can't you just leave us in peace?" Shepard demanded, coming to stand at the very edge of the cliff, feeling the ground pulsating menacingly under her feet as the Reaper continued to hum, a deep, macabre drone vibrating in the core of her chest. "We have done nothing to you! Why do you feel the need to halt our progress as a species right when it reaches its evolutionary peak? Are you afraid of us? Afraid we'll become too informed, too powerful, and finally be able to fight back against you, and all the rest of the Reapers?"

"We… are not afraid of you," the Reaper returned, solemnly. "You… should be afraid of you. Your greatest fears, your most desolate destruction, comes not from us… not from outside… but from within. If allowed along your current path… you will only destroy one another. We… come, do what we do, to prevent… anarchy, and… annihilation."

"You kill us so we don't kill each other?" Shepard scoffed, getting more and more furious with every backwards excuse the Reaper provided. "Do you even have any idea how ridiculous that sounds? We won't kill each other if you don't kill us! Haven't we proven to you enough that we, organics – we want to _live_?"

"Your universe is… expanding," the Reaper explained, haltingly, ignoring her riposte. "Every galaxy… expands at a rate… equal to the rate that all galaxies move away from one another…"

"Hubble's Law," Shepard acknowledged, frowning. "And the relative theory of Hubble Flow. What does that have to do—"

"Your use of mass effect technology… your abuse… is causing too much dark energy to be produced," the Reaper informed her, solemnly, cutting over her question as another spark of red electricity jumped across its ruined plates. "Dark energy which causes your galaxy to… grow larger… Soon, it will grow out of control… overwhelm and eventually destroy other galaxies… whose relative movement could not keep up with the expansion of your own… Other lifeforms… destroyed…" Letting out another loud, foghorn-like rumble, the Reaper quaked again, the tube lying on the ground giving a sickening, guttural splutter as a gush of grey organic filth spilled out of it. "Through your own ambitious blindness," the Reaper continued, disjointedly, its voice fading in and out as it fought to continue speaking coherently. "You will effectively become… us…"

"We will _never_ become you!" Shepard shot back, a dizzying rush of anger rising from her very core as she took another challenging step forward towards the edge of the cliff.

The Reaper droned loudly, giving an earth-shaking bass rumble as the giant construct shuddered, rattling in on itself in what could only be described as its ultimate death throes. "Finish your petty war, Shepard," it told her, its red light finally beginning to flicker out. "We… will… be waiting."

* * *

Shepard woke from a light, fitful sleep to the sound of her cabin door opening. After the events on the surface of Rannoch, she had wasted no time in returning to her quarters for a much-needed nap, but it seemed she would have to wait for that until later. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she turned her attention interestedly towards the door of her cabin, and was only half-surprised to see Javik standing in the entryway, his harsh, attentive stare easily seeking her out from his corner of the room. Sliding her legs out of bed, Shepard quickly got to her feet, rubbing her eyes as she approached the prothean, before moving past him to drop herself down in the chair beside her desk. She had spent too long on her feet to stay there for any amount of time now, even for politeness' sake.

"How can I help you, Javik?" she asked, stifling another small yawn as she stretched her legs out in front of her, getting as comfortable as she could in the small space provided by the swivel-chair.

"You took on a live Reaper all by yourself," Javik pointed out, getting immediately down to brass tacks.

Shepard nodded, thoughtfully, scratching absentmindedly behind one ear with the nail of her index finger. "Yes," she agreed, offhandedly. "What about it?"

Javik frowned, taken aback by her seemingly unconcerned attitude. "You killed a Reaper," he repeated, giving the statement a bit more emphasis this time. "A synthetic creature whose sole intent was to destroy you. And yet, if I am not mistaken, you continue to believe that synthetics can be trusted."

"I believe the geth can be trusted," Shepard answered, simply, looking up at him again with a look of almost pained indifference. "Was that all you wanted to ask?"

"The geth," Javik repeated, the word sounding condescendingly unpracticed on his tongue. "Yes. A formidable opponent, yet you trust them to remain your allies. Why did you allow one on this ship?"

Shepard frowned, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair, regarding him with almost scrutinising scepticism. "Legion helped us before," she told him, straightforwardly. "So I trusted him to help us again. There's really nothing more to it than that."

At this explanation, Javik made a face, the edge of his lip curling disapprovingly. "It's still a machine," he retorted.

"I take it you had your own problems with AI?" Shepard asked, reaching across her desk to pick up the small, star-patterned bouncy ball she had set aside earlier.

Javik nodded once, before raising his hands, as if to illustrate. "The Jatil," he told her, directly. "They were as the geth are to this cycle."

"What happened?" Shepard asked, beginning to roll the ball around in small, unfocused circles with the edge of her thumb. She could see Javik trying hard not to be distracted by the motion, but every so often his top pair of eyes would flick to the toy, only to quickly dart away again to stare at her instead, intently.

"Their creators lived on a dying world," Javik explained, matter-of-factly. "It was beyond their ability to save. So they resorted to implants to enhance their intelligence."

"I think I know where this is going," Shepard commented, picking up the bouncy ball to instead roll it absentmindedly between her fingers.

"The AI seized the physical body," Javik went on, gravely. "It could alter the genetic material at the deepest level. In time, the offspring were moulded into a slave race. Few organic traces were left." He paused, gritting his sharp teeth as his gaze dropped from Shepard to the floor. "They were monsters," he spat. "All machines commit treachery. The one you brought on board is no different."

"Maybe," Shepard conceded, turning her attention away from Javik to look down at the bouncy ball still held in her hand. "But he's not like the other geth."

"You can't know that," Javik insisted, looking up again with a deep frown. "They are more alien than you and I are to each other."

Shepard's brow furrowed as she looked up at him again, taken aback. "Just because Legion isn't like us doesn't mean he can't be trusted," she countered.

In return, Javik shook his head. "You are wrong," he told her, solemnly.

"How can you be so certain?" Shepard insisted, now starting to get annoyed. She had never met another being in her life so convinced that the world was meant to be broken down into shades of black and white, and while at first she had found his cut-and-dry mentality to be interesting, if extreme, she now found it to be nothing short of chauvinistic.

"Organics do not know how we were created," Javik explained, pragmatically. "Some say by chance… some say by miracle. It is a mystery. But synthetics… they know we created them. And they know we are flawed." Lifting his hands again, he looked down at them, his gaze fixed on his hands as he clenched and unclenched them, contemplatively. "We created them, and then gave them the power to surpass us," he went on, introspective. "But, that seems to be the inevitable way things are. The creation surpassing the creator. Self-righteous, blindly ambitious machinations with no regard for the sanctity or importance of the ones who sacrificed of themselves so that they might be able to exist."

"What are you getting at, Javik?" Shepard asked, pausing in playing with the bouncy ball to stare at him, wary. She could not quite figure out where he was going with this meandering line of thinking, but that did not stop it from putting her on edge.

Letting his hands drop back to his sides again, Javik looked up at Shepard once more, fixing her with the hard stare of all four of his bright yellow eyes. "Have you decided what you are going to do with your own creation?" he asked her, directly.

Shepard hesitated, frowning a bit as she tried to figure out what he was referring to. "About my what?" she finally asked, rolling the starry ball distractedly between her thumb and index finger.

"About your…" Javik faltered, trying to figure out what to call it, before finally simply nodding his tapered head towards her abdomen. "About that," he said, firmly. "About your _growing problem_."

"My baby?" Shepard asked, sliding a surprised hand under her hoodie to rest it across the curve of her baby bump. "What about my baby?"

"Have you decided what you will do with it?" Javik asked. "Now that it has begun to interfere with your job as Commander? Surely you cannot be thinking of keeping it. Not with so much at stake."

"And why not?" Shepard challenged, staring at him, intently. "What if I say I had decided to keep it? I have a life outside of the Alliance, Javik – or I will, once this war is over. I'm a human being. This isn't going to be my life forever."

Javik frowned, baring his filed teeth in disapproval. "Then you have no regard to the fact that it is your life now?" he insisted. "No regard to the lives that depend on you giving this job your all? It is your responsibility to fight back the Reapers. Everyone is depending on you to lead the resistance. The great Commander Shepard, the name on every pair of lips all over the galaxy… will their pleas fall on deaf ears, their lives in idle hands, because you wish to keep an inconvenient child?"

"I don't see that it's any of your business what I decide to do, Javik," Shepard countered, getting up quickly from her chair to face off with him, livid. "It's my body, it's my child, and it's my responsibility. If I wanted your opinion about it, I would have asked for it, but as it is—"

"It is a rash decision, and a foolish one," Javik cut over her, raising his voice, irate. "Perhaps you would be doing the Alliance a favour to simply quit, rather than carrying out this ridiculous charade. You have chosen a duty to your own selfish agenda over that which is best for the entire galaxy, and you do so without shame." Taking a step towards her, he squared his shoulders, challenging her, his yellow eyes blinking off-rhythm, causing her blood to chill. She hated when he did that, and could not help but feel that he did it on purpose just to throw her off balance. "You should be embarrassed – I am embarrassed for you," he continued, darkly, growling through his teeth. "Your carelessness and the consequences resulting from it should not put the entire galaxy at risk. They should not be punished for your negligence and selfish singlemindedness."

"Get the hell out of my cabin," Shepard snapped, feeling her blood begin to boil as she pointed forcefully towards the door. "I don't want you coming in here again unless I specifically tell you I want to talk to you. Do you understand me? _Get the hell out_."

"I will leave," Javik agreed. "And I will keep your secret. But do not expect others to be so charitable. How long do you think your asari will stay quiet before her foolish concern for your well-being overwhelms her sense of duty? How long until your nosy thief lets it slip in some girlish gossip? How long can you keep avoiding standard medical check-ups before your doctor begins to suspect something is very wrong?"

"I said _get out of my cabin!_ " Shepard shouted, grabbing up the first available thing on her desk and hoisting it, as if ready to throw. This seemed to do the trick, as Javik's yellow eyes widened, and he quickly turned, making his way for the door. Once he had passed outside, letting the doors slide closed behind him, Shepard set the model ship down on her desk again, dropping back into her chair and resting her head in her hands, exhausted. As much as she hated to admit it, his words had struck a chord, and she could feel each valid point stinging like a thorn in her side. He was absolutely right – up to this point she had been running on borrowed time, putting off talking about her pregnancy with anyone in the rash hope that if she simply refused to think about it, it would just _go away_.

Lifting up her hoodie again, she stared down at the telltale curve of her stomach, her military-issue pants pulled taut against the skin in the struggle to keep her condition as inconspicuous as possible. Passing a hand over her baby bump, she stroked it thoughtfully with the pad of her thumb, running her other hand back through her hair with a deep, anxious sigh. Perhaps Javik was right after all, and she was being selfish to keep the child. Perhaps the rash decision to keep the baby was nothing more than an imbalance of chemicals, a surge of misguided, sentimental hormones making her too emotionally invested in something she had seen as nothing more than an ill-timed mistake less than three months ago.

Letting her hoodie drop back down again, she retrieved her hand, watching as it moved, almost independently, across her desk towards the vidcomm control. Then, selecting a channel, she sat back to watch the screen, waiting anxiously for someone to answer but finding herself almost wishing they would not. When her call was finally received, she felt a heavy weight sink to the pit of her stomach, realizing that it was too late to turn back now. "Shala'Raan?" she asked, trying hard to keep from wincing as the finalistic name left her tongue. She hesitated, biting her lip, still not entirely sure she knew what she was doing. Then, taking a deep, steadying breath, she asked, quietly, "…Can we talk?"


	19. WEEK THIRTEEN, Pt.1

"Commander Shepard," Councillor Tevos addressed her, folding her hands behind her back as her hologram image flickered into full clarity in the vidcomm pit. "I understand you've helped resolve the situation with the geth."

"Yes, Councillor," Shepard answered, dutifully, taking an attentive step forward towards the vidcomm station. "Two, in fact."

"I've read the reports," Tevos returned, impressed. "You ended a war _three centuries_ in the making."

"I had a lot of help," Shepard admitted, modestly.

Nodding her head in response, Tevos retrieved her hands from behind her back, letting them come to rest more comfortably at her sides as she continued addressing the Commander. "We have isolated pockets of remaining geth," she told her, straightforwardly. "As best we can tell, they are geth bodies loaded with Reaper code. But they are just a tiny fragment of the full geth fleet. You've done the impossible, Commander… and I may be able to provide help of my own." Pausing, she made a quick glance over her shoulder, as if making sure she were not being listened in on, before turning her attention back to Shepard and folding her hands rigidly in front of her. "I've received information from my government," she told her, her voice quieter now. "It's too sensitive to discuss over an unsecured channel, however."

"What if I came to the Citadel?" Shepard suggested, raising her brows, intrigued.

"Yes," Tevos agreed, keenly, giving another eager nod of her head. "That would be best, Commander. I will be waiting for you in Councillor Udina's office." And with that, she ended the communication.

Turning away from the vidcomm station, Shepard ran a preoccupied hand back through her hair, letting out a soft sigh as she thought back to her conversation with Shala'Raan from the previous evening. Resting a hand against the smooth metal outline of the vidcomm station's door frame, she stalled, staring blankly into the war room, watching the holographic image of the Crucible-in-progress spinning slowly around on the hub. She was quickly pulled out of her distracted trance by the sound of Traynor's voice coming in over the intercom, causing her to look up, almost involuntarily.

"Commander, Admiral Hackett is available on vidcomm," Traynor reported, causing Shepard to frown, taken aback. While it was not unusual for her to have vidcomm messages back to back – she was a busy woman, and the War made for very little opportunities to be left to her own devices – she had not expected to hear from Hackett at least until the quarians and geth had arrived on Earth to begin helping with the Crucible Project. Still, she figured if he had something he wanted to talk to her about, it had to be important, and so, turning around again, she returned to the vidcomm station, pressing the flashing button on the console that signified an incoming projection. Hackett's blue image flickered into form in the vidcomm pit, taking a step forward to stand at attention, addressing Shepard with a stern, stony expression.

"Commander," Hackett acknowledged her, squaring his broad shoulders. "It's been a while."

"What can I do for you, Admiral?" Shepard asked.

"Nothing in particular," Hackett answered quickly, shaking his head. "Just wanted to check up on you, make sure you were doing okay. Heard you took out a Reaper on Rannoch. That couldn't have been easy."

"It never is," Shepard returned, truthfully. "But at least it means Rannoch is safe for a little while. What's our state of readiness there on Earth?"

"Given the situation everywhere else, as close as we can be," Hackett told her, candid. "You've done well, Shepard."

"What's the Reaper situation?" Shepard asked, not so easily pacified.

At this, Hackett sighed, as if he had been dreading the inevitable question. "It's not trending well," he answered, honestly. "Even if you did buy Rannoch some time, our threat projection shows the Reapers will gain the advantage on most other fronts. And now the asari are a prime target. They're the most advanced race in the galaxy. We'll soon find out if that means anything."

Shepard hesitated, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. It was an honest answer, and not entirely unexpected, though it did make her a bit tentative about how best to breach the question she had been planning on asking next. "If I may, Admiral," she began, trying hard not to sound too apprehensive. "I have… a personal question."

"Speak freely, Commander," Hackett offered, attentive.

Pausing again, Shepard frowned, digging the heel of her boot uneasily into the metal floor of the vidcomm station. "Why me?" she finally asked, trying hard not to let her anxiety show too plainly on her face. "Why put me in charge of all this?"

"Because you're the only soldier in this whole damn Navy who knows how to kill Reapers," Hackett answered, sounding almost irritated that he had to explain this to her when it should have been painfully obvious.

Shepard scoffed, shaking her head dismissively. "You just have to be smart and hope you get lucky," she countered, frustrated. "Anyone can figure it out."

"Your dossier says otherwise, Shepard," Hackett returned, his tone matter-of-fact as he took a stern step backwards. "You stopped the batarian slavers on Elysium all those years ago. What you did… the people who survived that ordeal still thank you by name."

"And because of that you think I qualify to save the galaxy?" Shepard insisted, exasperated. She had never really seen fit to question Hackett and Anderson's motives for frontlining her before, but now that they were being laid out for her, she could not help but feel that it all seemed a bit too easy, too trusting.

"Shepard, let me tell you something that I've learned the hard way," Hackett told her, frankly, taking a step forward towards her again and holding out his hands, indicative. "You can pay a soldier to fire a gun – you can pay him to charge the enemy and take a hill… but you can't pay him to _believe_."

"I don't follow, Sir," Shepard confessed, honestly.

"When you went up against Sovereign, there was no good reason to believe you'd win," Hackett explained, letting his hands drop dutifully back to his sides. "But your crew didn't seem to care. They went along anyway. Your trip through the Omega-4 Relay… that was a suicide mission if there ever was one. Yet there your crew was, standing beside you, proud to serve. Why?" Taking another step forward, he pointed firmly at her this time, indicating her. "Because they believed in _you_ , their leader," he told her. " _That's_ what I need now. Where we're taking them is liable to get pretty hairy, and I know you're the one to get us to the other side."

"I understand, Sir," Shepard answered, nodding her head in return.

"Good," Hackett said, satisfied. "Is there anything else you wanted to ask?"

"Just one more thing," Shepard admitted. Wetting her lips, she sucked in on her lower lip, anxious, before taking in a deep breath and looking up at him again, her expression unreadable. "Theoretically speaking," she said, speaking slowly, sounding almost detached. "What would happen if I were to just… one day… during the War… quit?"

"We'd lose," Hackett answered, bluntly. "Is there anything else?"

"Nothing else, Sir," Shepard said, feeling the same hot, embarrassed, almost resentful blush threatening to rise to her face.

"All right, then," Hackett returned, nodding his head once, curtly. "I think we're through here. Hackett, out."

* * *

Shepard leaned against the desk of her private terminal, pointedly trying to ignore the furtive, worried looks Traynor kept throwing her way as she pulled up her message console with a soft sigh. She could tell the young yeoman thought she was being discreet, only looking over at the Commander when she thought Shepard was not paying attention, but she kept catching glimpses of Traynor staring at her every time she lifted her head, making it difficult to concentrate on reading her mail. "I'm fine, Traynor," she finally assured the young woman, trying to sound as sincere as possible. "Don't worry about me. Just do your calculations. I'll be fine." Traynor paused, staring at her, a light blush rising to her cheeks at having been caught, before finally nodding in silent acknowledgement and returning to her work, her deft fingers breezing more rapidly over the keys in embarrassed efficiency.

Turning her attention back to her work station, Shepard quickly scrolled to the top of her inbox, noting two bolded message titles glowing out at her from the head of the list. The first e-mail she opened was from Miranda – it was direct, if very vague, informing her that Miranda had found some information on her sister, worrisome information, and she suspected that there was something else going on with Oriana as well that she had not yet uncovered. She went on to request Shepard meet with her on the Citadel at an as-yet undisclosed location to figure out what to do next. Frowning, Shepard closed the message, moving on to open the second e-mail, this one from Admiral Hackett. She found it a bit strange that Hackett would be sending her an e-mail when he had just been speaking with her over vidcomm, but she also felt she was in no position to question him at the moment, given the not-so-subtle scolding he had given her barely ten minutes prior on the topic of potentially leaving the Alliance.

The message itself was simple enough, and surprisingly innocuous. The Admiral had decided to order the Normandy into dry dock so as to patch the ship up a bit after its most recent scuffle with the geth, which Shepard had to admit was not a bad idea, all things considered. The message went on to instruct that Shepard and her crew be put on shore leave until the ship could be fixed, and suggested that she take a look at Admiral Anderson's apartment while she was on the Citadel. The last part of the message seemed a bit out of place with the rest of it, but Shepard decided it was best not to debate it, instead closing out her mail program and heading for the elevator to take her down to the main crew level of the ship so she could spread the word.

The first thing she heard when she stepped off the elevator was Vega's voice carrying through the mess hall, going on about some mission on Omega he had headed where he had apparently fought off a dozen angry batarians, single-handedly. The story sounded far-fetched, but she decided it would be kinder to say nothing, instead making her way around the central column of the elevator and into the mess. Vega stood near the kitchenette area, leaning his hip against the preparation counter, his beefy arms folded cockily across his chest. Garrus stood on the other side of the clearing, leaning casually back against the stairwell barricade, his hands folded patiently at his hip, as if he had forgotten they were there. Shepard moved over to Vega, crossing her arms affably across her chest as she leaned against the kitchen counter as well, listening to the two men argue good-humouredly over who had the most impressive, albeit implausible, track record.

Garrus chuckled gently at Vega's story, his bright blue eyes flicking to Shepard, and then back to Vega, before shifting his stance to stand a little taller and taking in a deep breath. "Just warming up," he assured the marine. "Seeing what you had. Now… I tracked down this guy, Saren. Stopped him from raising a _geth army_ and unleashing the Reapers _three years ago_."

"That doesn't count," Vega countered, scoffing good-naturedly. "You did that with Shepard." Turning to look at Shepard standing next to him, he reached over, giving her a playful nudge in the arm with his elbow, causing her to instantly clap a surprised hand to where she had been nudged. Then, offering a nervous little laugh in return, she took another step further down the counter from Vega, tucking her hands more securely into her pockets as she continued to listen to the back-and-forth banter.

Garrus grinned, a deep, pensive thrum beginning to rise in his throat as he shook his head, chuckling again. "You're right, I _was_ with Shepard," he answered, turning his attention to Shepard and fixing her with a long, telling, affectionate gaze. "From the very beginning."

Shepard blanched, realizing she was being stared at, and quickly returned the hand she had been reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear to her pocket. She tried hard to keep her hoodie bunched as inconspicuously as possible, hoping he would look away soon and she would be able to relax again. However, he seemed determined to keep his gaze fixed on her, and the longer he stared at her, the more uncomfortable she became, until, finally, unable to take it any longer, she turned, walking away from the conversation. As she rounded the corner towards Liara's office, she could hear Vega jokingly telling Garrus, effectively ending the conversation, "That just means you're old."

Ducking inside Liara's office, Shepard moved quickly to the middle of the floor, turning around to make sure the weight-sensitive door had shut behind her before turning her attention distractedly towards Liara. Liara immediately looked up from her research at the sound, seeming surprised, but her surprise quickly faded as soon as she saw who her unannounced visitor was. "Can I help you, Shepard?" she asked, gently, setting the datapad she had been observing down on her desk to turn her full attention towards Shepard, not even seeming to notice as Glyph zipped helpfully around her thighs, waiting to be given an order.

Shepard hesitated, considering the offer, before quickly shaking her head. "No thanks," she said. "I don't need anything, I think. Thanks for asking, though. I'm just…" Trailing off, she paused again, sucking anxiously on her lower lip, before finally letting out her breath in a short, sharp sigh. "Hiding," she admitted, guiltily. "I'm hiding, honestly. From… people."

Liara considered this for a moment, thoughtful, before finally giving an understanding nod of her head. "Fair enough," she answered, shooing Glyph away from her legs with a gentle wave of her hand. "I can certainly sympathise with not wanting to be around… people." Picking up her datapad again, she moved deftly past Shepard, turning her attention instead to a console near the door of the office and busying herself with inputting data from the digipad into the computer. Taking the opportunity to look around, Shepard turned her attention towards the larger, more central display of screens Liara had erected in the small office to continue her work as the Shadow Broker. It was an impressive display, with screens showcasing an almost unbelievable amount of real-time events, and Shepard had to wonder how Liara managed to keep track of them all – or, at the very least, how she managed to know which ones to watch at what times in order to pick up the information she needed to do her job.

Turning her attention to the screens on the bottom row, Shepard quickly recognized the layouts of several different rooms of the Normandy, and made a hasty, hopeful scan across for a view of the mess hall. It did not take long to find what she was looking for, and, from what she could tell by looking at the tiny screen, it seemed that Vega had decided to entertain himself by attempting to prepare something unidentifiable on the stove of the kitchenette. Garrus, however, was nowhere to be seen, but she easily found him a few moments later on a monitor overseeing the gunnery room, hard at work at his calibration console. Shepard could hardly keep a small, half-expectant smile from curling the edge of her lips at the sight, but her attention was quickly pulled away from the monitor screens by Glyph zipping excitedly around her knees, causing her to take a step back from the console, trying to get out of the hologram's eager way.

"I hear the Migrant Fleet and the geth warships are on their way to join Admiral Hackett," Liara suddenly spoke up again, causing Shepard to look up at her, surprised. "How is the Crucible project going, by the way? Has Admiral Hackett said anything about it?"

"I forgot to ask," Shepard admitted, giving a short, offhanded shrug. "I'll ask next time." Then, taking one hand from her pockets, she pointed inquisitively towards the console Liara had been typing into moments earlier. "How's the, uh… searching, going on your end?" she asked, curiously. "Any luck finding any doctors for Thane?"

"Just one," Liara answered, a bit sheepishly. "And I'm not sure if he's still actively practicing, or even still alive. Nothing is a given in this galactic climate, unfortunately."

"Too bad Doctor Saleon is dead," Shepard joked, darkly, returning her hand to her pocket again. "He could just _grow_ Thane a new set of lungs."

"That's not funny, Shepard," Liara scolded, frowning over at her. "Doctor Saleon was a sadist, and his work was unethical and cruel."

"I was just…" Shepard started to explain, but then, deciding it was better just to accept the reprimand, she closed her mouth, crossing her arms self-consciously across her chest instead. "Sorry," she said. "That was in poor taste. What were you saying about finding a doctor for Thane?"

"His name is Maelon Heplorn," Liara said, turning her attention to her datapad and pulling up a long page of information before handing it over to Shepard to look at. "You may have heard of him. His personnel file says he worked with Mordin Solus in the Salarian STG for a while before quitting to pursue his own interests."

"I know Maelon," Shepard said, perusing the surprisingly long dossier on the datapad. "Mordin and I had a run-in with him about a year ago while we were looking into something on TuChanka. He was working on trying to reverse the effects of the genophage… without much success, unfortunately." Looking up at Liara again, she frowned, pointing inquiringly to the information listed on the datapad. "Is he qualified to do the sort of procedure Thane would need?" she asked, uncertainly.

"The STG specialized in genetic engineering, and Maelon was a certified surgeon," Liara confirmed, reaching over to scroll the dossier back up to the top and pointing assuredly to a line of text. "He's the best I've been able to find thus far. I can keep looking, of course—"

"Keep looking," Shepard answered, handing the datapad back towards her. "Maelon may have had good intentions with his work, but his methods were barbaric and crude. I don't trust him to do such a delicate procedure without hurting Thane."

"Understandable," Liara said, nodding in agreement. Then, pausing, she frowned a bit, her delicate, gloved fingers curling anxiously around the edge of the datapad as she worried gently at her plum lower lip. "I heard you… had a talk with Shala'Raan vas Tonbay," she told Shepard, hesitantly. "Did you decide what you… wanted to do, about your…?" Her voice trailed off, her malt-blue eyes flicking down to Shepard's midriff, and then back to her face again, telling. Shepard frowned, feeling the sudden, uncomfortable urge to cover her abdomen with her hands in a vain attempt to hide it from sight, but instead simply cleared her throat, dropping her gaze from Liara's.

"We talked," she answered, frankly. "She wants me to take a few days to think about it before making any final decisions. Make sure I really want to get rid of it." She hesitated, staring at the ground, before looking up at Liara again and making a face, suddenly uncomfortable. "She thinks I should talk to Garrus about it first, before… deciding for sure," she added, feeling her insides writhe with nerves at the very idea of bringing it up to the turian. "See what he says about it. See if he's got any suggestions."

"That makes sense," Liara agreed, supportively.

"I know it does," Shepard answered, discouraged. "I know. But I… just…" Letting out a heavy, frustrated huff of breath, her frown deepened as she stuffed her hands anxiously back into her pockets. "I just don't want to do it, all things considered," she admitted, shaking her head. "It's not his decision to make, it's _mine_. I've made it this far without his support. It's my body. Ultimately, it's my choice."

"Nobody is debating that," Liara told her, gently, hugging the datapad distractedly to her chest as she spoke. "But you know Garrus as well as I do. Even if you do ultimately decide to get rid of it, I… I feel like he would at least like to _know_."

"Right… right," Shepard answered, dropping her gaze to the floor again. "No, you're right. I _know_ you're right. It's just that…" Trailing off, she shook her head, taking in a long, contemplative breath. "It's strange," she said, quieter. "Shala'Raan said it was easier to be totally sure of something when you didn't actually expect to be able to achieve whatever it was you were deciding on, but when it actually becomes a possibility… you realize you only wanted it because you didn't think you could have it. And, y'know… she's not wrong." Another long silence followed this as Shepard stared at the ground, anxious and worn. Then, looking up at Liara again, she paused, before offering her a forced, sarcastic half-smile. "I'll just have to get him really drunk first," she joked. "That'll take some of the edge off, at least."

At this, Liara's expression dropped instantly, unimpressed. "That's not funny, Shepard," she scolded, gently.

Shepard smirked, shrugging one shoulder, half-heartedly. "It's kind of funny," she said, feebly.

* * *

It took several more days for the Normandy to reach the Citadel, which did absolutely nothing to quell Shepard's growing anxiety. The embarrassment at having been scolded by Hackett for implying she might not want to take part in the War anymore still hovered over her like a dark cloud, making her wonder in retrospect just how much of her military career had been less of her own choosing and more a byproduct of an ingrained sense of expectation. On top of that, she could not quite shake the growing feeling of uneasiness at the thought of what Tevos might want to talk to her about, that was apparently so secretive it had to be done in person. And, as if both of those things were not enough, she also had the meeting with Miranda to look forward to, where she fully expected to be questioned harshly about her failure to terminate her pregnancy.

It came as no surprise that by the time the Normandy reached dry dock, Shepard found herself doubled over the toilet-bowl, emptying her stomach of the previous night's dinner. It was only with a great amount of self-coaxing and an even greater amount of willpower that she managed to push herself away from the latrine, and from there to wash her face, dress herself, and join the rest of her crew on shore leave while the Normandy was taken in for Hackett's suggested repairs.

The first stop she made once she managed to split off from her crew was to the old office of Donnell Udina. Councillor Tevos sat at Udina's old desk, perusing distractedly over her digipad while a company of C-Sec grunts combed the office for clues that might offer information on Udina's alliance with Cerberus. At the sound of the door opening, Tevos immediately looked up, and, as soon as she saw Shepard, she set her digipad down, getting up from the desk to offer Shepard her full, undivided attention. Following a genial, if somewhat awkward, greeting, Tevos took the Commander to one side, informing her that C-Sec had ordered a full investigation into Udina and his activities leading up to the attack on the Citadel, but that that was not the real reason she had asked to meet with her there.

Glancing over her shoulder to make sure they were not being listened in on, Tevos then turned her attention back towards Shepard, telling her in hushed tones that the real reason she had asked her here was to inform her that the Asari Republic had taken a turn for the worse, and that Thessia was under extreme pressure from Reaper attack. Shepard took a tired breath, prepared to inform Tevos that she would get around to Thessia if and when she could, but she was quickly cut off by Tevos adding that because of the state Thessia now found itself in, she was prepared to share top-secret knowledge about the one thing she knew Shepard and the Alliance had been searching for since the start of the Crucible Project: the Catalyst, or at the very least, something that might help them to find it. This addendum immediately got Shepard's attention, and she quickly closed her mouth again, ready to listen.

Tevos explained that the knowledge she had was of a Prothean artefact hidden in the Temple of Athame on Thessia, known only to the highest ranking members of the asari government. While she was not completely certain as to what the artefact's function was, she said, she figured it might be useful in helping the Alliance to locate the Catalyst, or perhaps help them figure out how to build it. All Shepard needed to do to get the artefact was to go to Thessia and retrieve it. "I've already sent the coordinates to your ship," Tevos told her, intently. "And I've ordered a scientific team to meet you at the location. The artefacts within the temple are sacred to our culture, but the scientists have been informed as to your mission, so you should encounter little resistance in taking the Prothean artefact with you."

"I appreciate the help," Shepard told her, unsure what else there was to say.

"It is you who will be helping us," Tevos returned, solemnly folding her hands in front of her. "The Matriarchs are growing desperate. For the first time in our history, Thessia is vulnerable. For all our intellect, we're outmatched by Reaper firepower."

"I'll do what I can," Shepard assured her, offering an encouraged nod as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. The motion was becoming almost subconscious by now.

"Thank you," Tevos told her, giving a soft, almost relieved sigh. "Whether you know it or not, you've become the sole ray of hope in a very dark night. Goddess be with you."

Tevos' last weighty statement hung over Shepard like a bad omen as she left Udina's office, pulling up her omni-tool and sending Miranda a quick ping to let her know she was on her way. She had never really noticed it before, likely because she had never had a reason to, but the more she heard variations of the same solemn statement that she was the galaxy's last hope, the more she began to resent it. Apart from the obvious transparency of the sentiment – friends, associates, and devotees alike blindly lauding her on an accomplishment no one else had even bothered to _attempt_ to replicate since she had first done it over three years prior, and in doing so effectively covering their own unwillingness to try – the implication that she was the _only person in the entire galaxy_ qualified to do the job was becoming repetitive at best, and downright maddening at worst.

She was a human being, not a machine, one who had existed before the Reaper War and would hopefully continue to exist after it. This War was only one part of her identity, but people still seemed only too happy to cast her as the Tragic Selfless Hero, effectively martyring her for the good of the galaxy – with or without her consent.

It did not take long for Miranda to send back a response with a meeting location, and Shepard dutifully followed the lead to the Presidium apartment complexes, where she set to work looking for the apartment Miranda had specified. All the apartments appeared to be exactly the same from the outside, but it still did not take her very long to find the one she was looking for. Passing the reader of her omni-tool over the holo-lock, she heard a sharp beep before the lock display changed from orange to green and the door hissed open to allow her inside. Miranda was already waiting inside the apartment, and she quickly turned at the sound of the door opening, raising her shapely eyebrows. When she saw who her visitor was, however, she relaxed, crossing her thin arms across her chest and giving Shepard a quick, wary once-over.

"I got your message, Miranda," Shepard told her, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as the apartment door shut behind her, locking itself again. "Is this about your sister?"

Miranda paused, worrying nervously at the inside of her cheek, as if considering whether to tell Shepard why she was there at all. "Shepard… I need access to Alliance resources," she finally spoke, her explanation halted, her anxious gaze threatening to drop from Shepard's face more than once. "I can't say any more. You'll just have to trust me."

Shepard frowned, concerned, before shifting her weight more comfortably onto her less swollen back foot. "I don't like secrets, Miranda," she told her, shaking her head. "Just tell me what's going on."

"I can't," Miranda insisted, looking quickly away, her thin, gloved hand moving up to brush self-consciously against her collar-bone. "If that's a problem, I'll go."

"Don't," Shepard assured her, quickly, holding out a placating hand. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening in on the conversation, she took another step closer to Miranda, returning her hand to the pocket of her hoodie. "Trust is… it's just a little hard to come by right now," she explained, her voice low.

"Of course," Miranda agreed, turning her attention back to Shepard.

Shepard nodded, pulling her other hand from her pocket and holding it out towards Miranda, indicating for her to do the same. Miranda quickly held out the hand with her own omni-tool sensor on it, waiting as Shepard pressed the reader of her sensor against Miranda's, allowing the two to sync, until finally Miranda's sensor let out a small, high-pitched beep, letting them know the data had been successfully transferred. "You have your access, Miranda," Shepard told her, tucking her hand back into her pocket. "But I have to admit, I don't like the sound of this."

"I know," Miranda acknowledged, distractedly pushing her sensor down further over her palm, taking special care to assure it was secure enough that it would not slip off accidentally. "And thank you. It means a lot."

Shepard nodded, watching Miranda's body language closely. Despite having gotten what she needed from Shepard, the secrecy of which should have been the thing that was making her so anxious and jumpy, her obvious sense of discomfort did not seem to be going away. "That's not the only thing you wanted to talk about, was it?" Shepard asked, intuitive, causing Miranda to frown up at her, anxiously, before letting her worried gaze drop quickly back down to the floor again.

"No," she admitted, quietly, shaking her head. "It's not. I mean, I'd hoped it would have been, but…" Trailing off, she folded her slender arms, staring intently down at the floor, before finally looking up at Shepard again, irate, all the nervousness of before seeming to leave her all at once. "You decided not to go to that place I told you about?" she asked, her tone cold, sounding almost affronted. "On Ilium? With the person I told you to talk to?"

"The… clinic?" Shepard asked, surprised, unable to help feeling a bit defensive. "With the doctor you referred me to?"

"That one," Miranda confirmed. "You decided not to go there after all? Or you went and decided not to go through with it once you were there?"

"Miranda," Shepard returned, frowning deeply. "I…" She faltered, trailing off, before finally bringing a frustrated hand to her head and letting out a long, put-upon sigh. Telling Miranda the truth about the doctor would only make her more upset than she already was, and it served no purpose for Shepard to get on her bad side. Pushing her hand back through her hair, she let it fall to her side again, before giving a half-hearted, one-shoulder shrug. "I… forgot," she explained, lamely, going with the first lie to come to mind. "I know that sounds ridiculous, all things considered, but… I've just… I've been really busy, Miranda. What with this war, and trying to broker peace between all the races, I… I haven't gotten a chance to go to Illium. Not yet."

"You _forgot_?" Miranda insisted, narrowing her eyes at Shepard in disbelief. "You _forgot_ you needed to get rid of the thing _growing inside of you_? Or was it that you _forgot_ you were pregnant altogether?" Scoffing, she shook her head, propping her hands indignantly against her slender hips. "Must be nice, Shepard – must be _bloody nice_ to have so many options open to you that you can just _forget_ about them without considering the consequences of your actions," she told her, her voice biting and cold. "I mean, you might as well just _keep_ the child at this point. Getting rid of it now would just be bloody cruel."

"If it's such an easy decision, Miranda—" Shepard started to retort, but quickly held herself back, not wanting to say something unkind that she might regret later. Instead, she pursed her lips, hunching her shoulders forward and pulling her hoodie more protectively around her form. "It's not that easy, Miranda," she said, quieter.

Miranda pursed her lips, her scrutinizing gaze fixed, hard, on Shepard as a moment of cold, razor-thin silence stretched between them. Then, finally, she let out a heavy sigh, letting her arms drop back to her sides. "I should get moving," she said, turning towards the door of the apartment and starting to walk away from Shepard. Reaching the door, she paused, thoughtful, before turning to look back at Shepard again over her shoulder. "Thanks for the… intel," she told her, haltingly.

"Of course," Shepard returned, concernedly. "And Miranda, this thing you have to do… good luck."

Miranda huffed a short, humourless, almost expectant breath. "Don't worry, Shepard," she assured her, lifting the hand with the omni-sensor on it, indicatively. "I always have a plan." Then, turning away from Shepard again, she passed through the door of the apartment, finally disappearing from sight as it closed shut behind her.

* * *

Anderson's apartment was located on a part of the Citadel called the Silversun Strip. The Strip, as it was fondly referred to by those more familiar with the location, was a higher-budget subset of the station, lined as far as the eye could see with novelty shops, casinos, fine dining, and upscale apartments, all built so close together that the entryway for one building could easily be mistaken for the entrance to the building next to it. After a long, confused time of looking around for the specified apartment complex, Shepard finally found her way to the entrance through a small, ritzy furniture store. She could feel the two asari employees' eyes following her as she passed through their showroom, silently judging her basic sweater and worn military pants and boots, but the feeling did not last long before she found herself at the doorway of the complex. From there it was relatively easy to find the specified apartment, and she quickly passed her tool reader across the holo-lock, letting herself inside, before allowing the apartment door to hiss shut behind her, instantly cutting off the noisy bustle of the Strip outside.

The apartment itself was enormous, so much larger than she had expected it to be that she found herself feeling somewhat staggered as she looked around at it, trying to take it all in. The walls were lined with what she guessed to be alien artwork, the splattered, dripping colours of the paintings and formless, almost archaic shapes of the statues meaningless and unappealing to her untrained eye. The sound of trickling water could be heard from somewhere within the depths of the apartment, and a soft hum emanated from the glowing, dewy live-plant display beside the entryway. A lovingly-polished baby grand piano stood in a far corner of the room, and a holographic fire crackled peacefully in what appeared to be a hologram fireplace, projected against a large, central pillar in the middle of the front-room floor. A large monitor sat perched beside the doorway of the apartment, and across the room, a giant vid screen had been built into the wall, though both screens were currently blank.

"Commander," Traynor's voice suddenly came in over the overhead system, causing Shepard to look up, surprised. "I've got Admiral Anderson on the QEC. Patching him through to you now."

Turning to look back towards the monitor by the door, Shepard watched as it flipped on of its own accord, the screen first showing a blank black display, and then a blue one, showcasing a slowly-rotating Alliance symbol. Finally, it changed over to an image of Admiral Anderson sitting at a desk that was clearly not his own. "Shepard," Anderson greeted her, settling down more comfortably into the unfamiliar seat. "It's been a while since we've been able to speak like this."

"Admiral," Shepard returned, a soft smile instantly touching her lips at the sight of him. "How are you holding up?"

"Day by day, Commander," Anderson answered truthfully, giving a hefty sigh.

"Yeah…" Shepard agreed, nodding as she looked down at the floor, before looking up at Anderson again and raising her brows, curious. "Hackett sent me a message about this apartment…?"

"Yes," Anderson answered, straightforwardly, giving an assuring nod. "I want you to have it, Shepard. Take it off my hands."

At this, Shepard faltered, taken aback. "Are you serious?" she finally asked, wondering if this was some sort of odd joke, but Anderson did not seem to be laughing. In fact, he looked as serious as she had ever seen him as he offered her a short, almost dismissive shrug of his broad shoulders in response.

"You need a place that's yours," he told her, cool as ever. "Somewhere to recharge. Clear your head." Then, his dark, friendly gaze softening a bit, he gave a gentle breathe of a laugh as he looked up at her again, fondly, a small, recalling smile touching the edge of his lips. "I knew you when you were younger, you know," he told her, suddenly. "You might not remember us meeting back then. I was just a young man, myself, at the time… that had to have been thirty-some-odd years ago, thinking back. Maybe less. Maybe more like twenty-some-odd years." He paused, trying to remember the exact date of their meeting, before finally seeming to give up and returning his attention to Shepard. "Anyway, the first time I met you, you were this… feisty, pigtailed little girl," he told her. "Couldn't have been more than six or seven, and… Well, it's kind of funny now, but at the time, it was a bit startling."

"I'm afraid to ask what I did," Shepard returned, her smirk widening in almost embarrassed dread. "Couldn't have been _too_ bad, or you would never have allowed me on your ship when I was older, let alone handed it over to me."

"No, no," Anderson assured her, holding up a comforting hand. "Nothing bad. Or, _too_ bad, I should say."

"Oh, _great_ ," Shepard laughed, crossing her arms good-naturedly.

At this, Anderson chuckled, a soft, deep, warming sound, before finally going on. "Your mother brought you along with her when she was transferred to a ship I was serving on," he told her, letting his hand fall distractedly back down onto his desk. "Your father had died a few years earlier, so it was just you and your mother… well, I tried to talk to you, to introduce myself, but instead of calling you Jane, I accidentally called you Jan, or June, or… June, I think. And you got _so mad_."

"I bet I did," Shepard answered, shaking her head. "Everybody kept getting my name wrong when I was a kid. It's such a _simple_ name, too, you'd think people would be able to get it right." Then, shrugging one shoulder offhandedly, she added, "That's mostly why I just go by Shepard anymore nowadays. Save people the trouble of trying to figure it out."

"Well, count me in with the neophytes, then," Anderson told her, chuckling again. Letting out a long, melancholy sigh, he leaned back more comfortably in his chair, letting his hands come to lace easily across his chest. "Kahlee wanted us to settle down there, in that apartment," he told her, his voice almost wistful as he thought about it. "Maybe get married, start a family. It's a little late for that, now… we're both too old to be having children, especially me." He paused again, thinking about this for a moment, before finally taking in a sharp breath and continuing on almost as if he had not paused at all. "Plus, strange thing, but… the longer I'm on Earth, the less I find myself wanting to leave," he told her, thoughtfully. "Considering that, I want as few loose ends out there as possible. Like I said, you'd be doing me a favour."

"That's… very generous," Shepard told him, unsure what else there was to say.

Anderson shrugged again. "It's practical," he told her. "And plus, we need you to be in the best shape possible for this upcoming war."

At this, Shepard hesitated, trying not to let a concerned frown touch her features. "Sir?" she asked, tentatively.

"You need to be well-rested, Shepard," Anderson clarified, fatherly. "And well-focused. I know a career military woman like yourself is used to hard beds and short naps, but sometimes even the great Commander Shepard needs to take it slow and unwind a little. Chakwas tells me you're wound up tighter than a corkscrew, and you keep missing your medical examinations because you're always on some mission or another." At this, Shepard felt her insides twist, and she quickly uncrossed her arms to stuff her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, self-consciously hiding herself from his view. "I need you to stay healthy and strong if you're going to win this war for us, Shepard," Anderson went on, hardly seeming to notice her sudden discomfort. "Don't want the Reapers winning out over us because our fearless leader came down with an undiagnosed cold."

"If you say so," Shepard agreed, noncommittal, giving a half-hearted shrug.

"I do," Anderson confirmed, good-naturedly. "And make yourself at home, damnit. The apartment is yours now."

Feeling the tentative smile return to her face, Shepard offered a soft little laugh in return. "I'm sure I can manage," she told him, truthfully.

"Okay," Anderson agreed. "Good. Been meaning to do that for a while." Pausing again, he stared at her, watching her, almost sadly. Then, leaning forward in his seat again, he folded his hands in front of him on his desk, fixing Shepard with a stern, caring stare. "I'll… talk to you soon," he told her, seeming almost hesitant to hang up.

"Be careful out there, Anderson," Shepard told him, feeling the smile fading from her face as well.

Anderson nodded, appreciative, before letting out another short, soft sigh. "You too, Shepard," he told her, fondly. Then, reaching out towards the vidcomm console, he pushed a button on the side, and a moment later, the screen went black.


	20. WEEK THIRTEEN, Pt.2

Shepard had never thrown a party in her life, and she had no idea where to start now. Having been brought up on Navy vessels and moved around every few years with her mother's career, she had never had a chance to make any real friends growing up, and as such had very little experience with social events outside of the ones her mother attended, which were all mostly low-intensity, black-tie affairs. Now, as she sat scrolling through names on her digipad with her swollen feet propped up on Anderson's polished alcove desk – now her polished alcove desk, she supposed – she found it hard to pick and choose which of her available crew and associates would make for the best party atmosphere.

"I want to invite them all," she mused to Glyph, who zipped around in entertained circles nearby, helpful and attentive as always. "Can't I just invite them all?"

"Not if you want your apartment to survive," Glyph was quick to respond.

"How many people can I invite without running that risk?" Shepard tested, reaching forward towards the desk to pick up the box of fruit gummies she had found in one of the kitchen cabinets. Ever since discovering it, she had been trying to resist getting into it, but now, as she pulled the cellophane wrapping off and tossed it into the trash, she found the temptation too much to bear. Setting the box down in her lap, she pried open the lid, picking out a piece of candy and popping it in her mouth, before looking down again, curiously. She paused, her chewing slowing momentarily as she stared at the box of candy balanced precariously across her stomach, before suddenly giving a short, unladylike snort and pointing down at it. "Look at that," she commented to no one in particular, sounding more resigned than anything. "Fuck."

"Inviting no more than twenty guests would be advisable, Commander," Glyph informed her, not seeming to notice Shepard's unusual outburst. "However, fifteen would be preferable, if at all possible."

"I can do fifteen," Shepard confirmed, nodding agreeably. "Or maybe sixteen. Or seventeen. I'll take my chances with the state of things."

"Who would you like to invite, Commander?" Glyph requested, whistling over to hover near her shoulder patiently.

Dragging a group of names into a separate pop-up window, Shepard pulled the revised list up on the digipad before holding it over to show to Glyph. "These people," she indicated, popping another candy in her mouth. "Everyone on this list."

"I will send out invitations at once, Commander," Glyph acknowledged.

"Thanks, Glyph," Shepard told him, retrieving the digipad. "You're a pal. Oh, and Glyph – one more thing?" Glyph returned instantly at her request, hovering expectantly over her desk, awaiting her next command. Now with his full attention on her, Shepard paused, making a face, before opening her arms and indicating her full, relaxed, and currently less than flattering form. "Am I fat?" she asked, uncertainly, not entirely confident she wanted to hear the answer.

Glyph hummed thoughtfully for a moment, hovering in place, observing her. "I do not know, Commander," he finally answered, pragmatically. "I have no frame of reference for what that constitutes. You only look like Commander Shepard to me."

At this, Shepard faltered, taken aback. Of all the answers she had been expecting him to give, that had not been one of them. Still, she could not help a small, appreciative half-smile from creeping across her face. "Thanks, Glyph," she said, oddly grateful for the comforting, if unintentional, reassurance. "That actually means a lot."

"You are welcome, Commander," Glyph informed her. "Shall I distribute your party invitations now, or was there anything else you needed?"

"That was all," Shepard conceded, satisfied, before picking up another gummy and sticking it unconcernedly into her mouth.

* * *

It did not take long before the party was in full swing. Pleasant, upbeat music filled the apartment as a cheery, digital fire crackled in the holographic fireplace, setting an intimate yet casual atmosphere. The hot tub in the master bathroom bubbled invitingly, and every so often Shepard would catch a few of the party guests staring at it, as if seriously considering getting in. The crew had spread out across the house, forming small groups of familiar social circles – Miranda and Jack sat at the bar, while Garrus and Tali conversed in the kitchen about the good old days, with Garrus teasing her about the conversations they used to have in the elevators and Tali responding with amusement thinly masked as annoyance. Wrex and Zaeed joked over drinks in the foyer, and Joker and EDI sat on the couch, speaking in hushed voices about something that Joker clearly found captivating, as was apparent from the guilty little smile he could not help from appearing on his bearded face.

The guests seemed to have no trouble getting into Anderson's well-stocked liquor cabinet as well, and from what Shepard could tell, everyone already appeared to have loosened up considerably. As she approached the bar, she noticed Miranda mixing herself something blue and frozen as she talked to Jack, who was sitting on one of the barstools, drinking something purple. Miranda looked up at Shepard as she approached, watching as she sat down at the bar next to Jack, before returning the ingredients of her now-finished drink to the cold storage under the bar where they belonged. "Virgin?" Miranda asked, pulling something different out of the cold locker and setting it on the counter in front of her.

Halfway through a sip of her drink, Jack suddenly gave a sharp bark of a laugh, setting her glass down on the bar with a cough before jerking her tattooed thumb in Shepard's direction. "Who, her?" she asked, entertained. "Not since before the Contact War."

"Ha, ha," Shepard answered, deadpan, allowing an amused smirk to cross her features. "Very funny, Jack."

"I'll be here all evening," Jack returned, picking up her drink again and taking another swig.

"I'll take that virgin, if you wouldn't mind," Shepard said, turning her attention back towards Miranda, who nodded in understanding, pulling a glass out from under the counter and starting to fill it with cold liquid. As the liquid touched the inside of the glass, it began to clump, taking on the consistency of crushed ice as the open air of the apartment hit it. Jack watched in interest as Miranda mixed the newest drink, running the pad of her index finger along the rim of her glass before turning her attention towards Shepard again and raising her scarred brows.

"Not drinking tonight, Shepard?" she asked, picking up her own drink and taking a sip from it.

"Nah," Shepard joked, smiling over at her. "I figure _somebody's_ gotta keep an eye on you kids tonight. Make sure you don't get too rowdy. It's my apartment, so I guess it makes sense that it might as well be me."

"Practice makes perfect, I suppose," Miranda agreed, sliding the frozen, banana-yellow drink across the bar towards Shepard before dropping a matching straw into the mixture. "You're going to be 'keeping an eye on us kids' for a while yet, if I'm not mistaken."

"Oh, shit," Jack smirked, looking between Shepard and Miranda, amusedly. "Looks like somebody pissed off the cheerleader. What's the matter, Miranda? Can't stand Shepard being the responsible one once in a while?"

"Hm," Miranda returned, looking pointedly up at Shepard, before returning her gaze to her drink again, deliberately saying nothing.

Tapping her thumb frustratedly against the frosty side of her glass, Shepard frowned, vexed. "What's eating you, Miranda?" she asked, trying not to sound as annoyed as she felt. "I asked you out here because I thought you'd enjoy having some time to unwind, loosen up a little. I hoped you'd be having a good time, but clearly you're not. I said I'd help out with your sister, but there's only so much I can do when you won't tell me anyth—"

"It's not just about my sister, Shepard," Miranda countered, looking up at her again, annoyed. "You know _exactly_ what this is about."

"Well, I don't," Jack put in, intrigued. "Somebody wanna fill me in, or…?"

"No," Miranda told her, firmly.

At this, Jack sat up straight on her barstool, raising her brows again, taken aback. "Fine, bitch," she said, bluntly. "If you don't wanna talk to me—"

"Miranda and I are just having an ethical disagreement," Shepard explained quickly, turning to look at the young biotic, hoping to diffuse the situation. "Completely theoretical, but it got pretty heated a little bit earlier. I think Miranda's still coming down from being mad at me about that." Turning her attention deliberately back to Miranda, she raised her brows, pinching her straw between her thumb and forefinger. "Right, Miranda?" she asked, pointedly.

Miranda hesitated, bristling, before finally offering Shepard a forced, frigid smile in return. "Right, Shepard," she said, haltingly. "Of course."

"Well shi—shoot, Shepard," Jack laughed, relaxing again as she picked up her drink. "You should know better than to argue ethics with somebody who served with _Cerberus_. Their idea of an ethical dilemma is whether to put one bullet between your eyes or two."

"That's no dilemma," Miranda returned, shaking her head. "Cerberus never provided the funding to waste two bullets on one mark. If you did that, you'd be gridlocked in paperwork for weeks."

"Well I'll be damned," Jack grinned, surprised, indicating Miranda with her glass. "The cheerleader's got a sense of humour." Finishing off her drink, she slid the empty glass away from her across the counter, before pushing herself up from her stool and patting Shepard agreeably on the back. "I'll see you in a bit, Shepard," she told her, jerking her thumb over her shoulder towards the adjoining room. "I'll be in the kitchen with Tali and them if you need anything."

"See you in a bit," Shepard agreed, lifting a hand in return. She watched as Jack made her way from the barroom into the kitchen next door, but once the biotic was out of earshot, she her attention back to Miranda, her expression suddenly changing to one of irate frustration. "What the hell was that about?" she insisted, hissing through gritted teeth. "You nearly blew my secret in front of Jack. You might not care who figures it out, but I sure as hell still do."

"Oh, calm down, Shepard," Miranda scoffed, indifferent. "Jack doesn't know. Nobody knows. Or, if they do, I didn't tell them." Taking another sip of her drink, she frowned, giving a noise of disapproval, before reaching across the bar to pick up the jar of sugar crystals. "Though, truth be told, perhaps it would be for the best if they _were_ to find out about it," she added, unscrewing the cap of the sugar jar. "Maybe if more people knew about it, you'd feel more compelled to make a decision one way or another on what you want to do with it. Unless you've already made a decision, and you just haven't told me about it." Tapping a few fine sugar mists into the slushy liquid, she returned the jar to the end of the bar before stirring her drink with her straw and taking another sip, this time seeming much more pleased with the resulting taste.

"I haven't made a decision yet," Shepard admitted, prodding distractedly at her own drink with her straw. "I thought I had, pretty recently, but then… something came up. Now I'm not so sure anymore."

"I'm not going to tell you what to do one way or another," Miranda told her, evenly. "But if I were you, I'd keep it. Familial motives aside, this is the first time there's ever been a successful hybridization between two conflicting amino-oriented species. The scientific implications are… endless."

"If I did end up having _her_ ," Shepard corrected, pointedly, "I wouldn't give her over to science to prod and poke and experiment on. I don't care what kind of implications there are, I would want to give her as normal a life as I possibly could. Seclude myself and raise her like I would any other child, just… with minimal outside contact." Turning her gaze down towards her drink, she frowned, slowly stirring the straw around in the icy slurry. "Kids can be so cruel," she said, shaking her head. "I wouldn't want to expose her to any more of that than absolutely necessary. Which is why I think it might be better for her not to have to go through it at all. What kind of childhood what she have, not even being allowed to interact with other kids her age?"

"One similar to mine, I suppose," Miranda answered, candidly. "And I turned out all right, I think."

"Hm," Shepard returned, noncommittal.

"Anyway, how do you even know it's going to turn out to be a girl?" Miranda insisted, ignoring Shepard's pointed non-comment. "For all you know it could very well turn out to be a boy. What then? Would you be more inclined to keep it then?"

"That's a horrible question, Miranda," Shepard told her, looking up again with an expression of stunned horror.

"It's a fair question," Miranda returned, bluntly. "Would you be more compelled to keep the child if you knew it was going to be a boy?"

"I don't…" Shepard faltered, frowning, and shook her head, trying to think clearly but finding it harder and harder to do as she became more and more upset. "No," she finally answered. "No, I wouldn't. You know the reasoning I have behind not knowing whether I want to keep it or not, Miranda, and gender has nothing to do with it."

"If you say so," Miranda told her, effectively ending the conversation. A long silence followed this, broken only by the dull buzzing of conversation drifting in from other areas of the house and the hot tub bubbling enticingly in the master bathroom. Suddenly, Miranda looked up at Shepard again, taking a deep, sharp breath. "We created another like you, you know," she told her, unexpectedly, causing Shepard to look up again, intrigued. "Used my father's cloning technology… speaking of my childhood. That was what reminded me of it. Genetically, the two of you were exactly the same, but your personalities couldn't have been more different. The same way it was with me and Oriana… more or less." She hesitated, thinking, pausing in prodding at her frozen drink as she tried to decide if her description was entirely accurate or not. "Well, maybe a bit more extreme," she amended. "But the same general idea, nonetheless. But, like with me and Ori, we only made the two copies, you and the other Shepard. One for use, and the other for backup."

"Backup?" Shepard asked, frowning, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at Miranda. "What do you mean, 'for backup'?"

"The other Shepard was mostly for… spare parts," Miranda explained, stirring her drink distractedly with her neon blue straw. "Nasty attitude about it as well. We woke her once to make sure she could be – woken, that is – and to make sure all her limbs were working the way they should, just in case we should need them for any reason…" Pausing in her stirring, she curled her slender fingers around the stem of her glass, staring down into it for a moment, thoughtfully. "She wasn't pleased about that, as you can imagine," she said, a faint frown touching her pretty features. "I did hear from an old Cerberus contact that she was the Illusive Man's first fallback plan when he lost you, though. I guess he figured, lose one Shepard, just use the other." Shaking her head then, she ran the pad of her index finger distractedly along the carved stem of the glassware, her light-blue eyes fixed, concerned, on the neon-blue straw resting idly against the side of the glass.

"She wasn't the same as you," she commented, seeming a bit quieter now, almost troubled. "Belligerent, mean… rash. She was going to be the Illusive Man's answer to your betrayal, until he found Kai Leng to fill the role. After that I'm pretty sure he just got rid of her. He had no use for her anymore, not now that he had Leng to do his dirty work." Picking up her drink again, she gave the crystal-blue mixture a good swirl before taking another sip, careful not to drink the cold mixture too quickly. "Nobody would believe a Commander Shepard with none of the know-how, even if she was running around with your face," she added then, assuredly, turning her gaze up towards Shepard once more. "The plan to attempt to replace you with what was essentially the _anti-you_ was… brilliant, on the surface, I suppose, but fatally flawed once it got past skin-depth."

"That's… really sad," Shepard said, unable to keep a faint frown from creasing her brow. Looking down into her own banana-yellow drink, she tapped the edge of the glass, watching the thick, icy liquid shifting around inside. "I would have liked to have at least met her once, I think," she added, looking up at Miranda again, earnestly. "Before she was destroyed."

"Oh, I don't think you would," Miranda answered, honestly, starting to absentmindedly stir her drink around with her straw again. "She was a nasty piece of work. Mean as a snake. Resented being only 'partially-made', as she called it. Wanted your memories, but we wouldn't give them to her. She wanted to be complete – the _real deal_." Bringing her straw to her lips, she took another long, pensive sip of her drink, before moving the glass away again and shaking her head, thoughtfully. "She didn't have what it takes to be Commander Shepard," she said, matter-of-factly. "None of the dignity, none of the… morality. The only thing the two of you had in common was your looks, and even with that I think you got the better end of the bargain."

"Well… thank you, Miranda—" Shepard started to say.

"She wouldn't have agreed, of course," Miranda quickly added, cutting her off, jabbing distractedly at her drink with her straw. "She would likely have called you flighty, mawkish, and fat, and insisted she could do a better job of protecting the galaxy with one hand tied behind her back. But…" Here she paused again, stopping in playing with her drink to give a half-hearted, dismissive shrug. "I'm only guessing, of course," she said, offhandedly.

Shepard frowned, taken aback by this sudden, seemingly hostile development. "Did you just call me fat, Miranda?" she asked, concerned.

"Only in the prospective sense," Miranda assured her, bringing her straw back to her lips to continue sipping unconcernedly at her drink. "I'm only telling you what I think _she_ would have said, should she have met you now. You understand, of course."

"Of course," Shepard returned, deadpan, trying hard not to sound offended. Finishing off her own drink then, she slid the glass back across the bar towards Miranda, trying not to wince at the rush of cold as she gave the former operative a quick, appreciative nod. "Thanks for the virgin," she told her, flatly. "I'm gonna go see how the other guests are doing."

"Don't take it personally, Shepard," Miranda implored her, but Shepard ignored her addendum, instead getting up from her seat and starting to make her way back towards the living-room of the apartment.

The party still seemed to be going well, from what she could see looking around. Wrex, Javik, Joker, and Cortez had taken to exchanging planetary knowledge at the bar in the foyer, while Garrus, Tali, EDI, and Traynor talked science in the kitchen. Samara and Liara discussed asari composers over by the piano, while Jacob, Ashley, and Thane conversed in hushed voices about something Shepard could not quite catch over near the window. Glancing up towards the second floor of the apartment, Shepard paused when she spotted Vega, oddly separated from the rest of the guests, leaning meditatively against the balcony railing and fiddling distractedly with his hands. He watched the party's goings-on with a distant, almost preoccupied expression, and Shepard could not help but wonder what had made him break away from the rest of the crowd when everyone else seemed to be having such a good time.

Turning to take the stairs, Shepard made her way to the second floor, moving quietly over to stand next to Vega at the balcony. She allowed a moment of silence to pass between them as they observed the party together, but then, turning her attention back towards the marine, she gave him a quick, attention-getting nudge with her hip, causing him to look up, startled, at having been disturbed. When he saw who it was who was bothering him, his expression quickly settled, and he shook his head, giving a short, soft laugh of relief. "Oh, hey, Commander," he said, returning his elbows to the balcony railing and his attention to the party below. "Sorry about that. Didn't see you there."

"Well, you see me now," Shepard returned, her voice a playful purr. "So what's the verdict, Vega? You liking what you see?"

At this, Vega hesitated, his brow furrowing faintly, before turning to look back at her again, seeming a bit confused by the unexpected question. "Uh… what?" he asked, giving a weak, unconvincing attempt at a laugh. "I'm sorry, Lola… what was that?"

"The apartment, James," Shepard clarified, bluntly, giving a short, indicative sweeping gesture out towards the view from the balcony. Then, leaning her hip against the railing again, she smirked at him, biting her lip and giving him a quick, telling once-over. "Why?" she asked, her voice the same amused purr from before. "What did you _think_ I was talking about?"

Vega blanched, his words failing him as a taut, growing panic began to set in. "Uh, n—nothing," he lied, flustered. "I knew you meant the apartment." Giving another forced, uneasy laugh, he turned his attention back towards the overlooking view, pausing a moment to take it all in. "It's a nice view," he commented, finally, seeming satisfied with his verdict. "This place, though, it's just… so… not what I'm used to."

"Which is?" Shepard asked, raising her brows, interested.

Vega shrugged, his nonchalance slowly returning to him as he folded his hands in front of him over the edge of the balcony again. "I grew up on the beach on the Pacific," he told her. "So, y'know… water, sand… real air…"

"You miss it?" Shepard asked him.

"Yeah," Vega returned, nodding, almost regretfully. "And the people."

"So… what's her name?" Shepard asked, intuitively, offering him a knowing half-smile.

At this, Vega looked up at her, surprised. "Huh?" he asked, sounding almost startled. Then, seeming to realize she was joking, he let out out a sharp, relieved breath instead. "Hah!" he laughed. "No. No. I stopped… fraternizing when I joined the military. The two don't seem to go well together."

"You mean to tell me you haven't had sex since joining the military?" Shepard asked, disbelieving, feeling a dull ache start to grow in the pit of her stomach at the mere thought of it. Even now, at barely over three months without any sort of sexual contact, she felt as if she were about to go crazy. The idea of going for _years_ without sex was a nightmare she was not sure she could handle.

"Well, I never said _that_ ," Vega was quick to amend. "Just… no romance, you know. Nobody special. Not really looking for that kind of relationship right now. For… obvious reasons."

"Hasn't stopped you from being a shameless flirt," Shepard pointed out, moving in closer to him and running a playful finger down the front of his skin-tight shirt. Vega hesitated, taken aback, before letting out another short laugh, this one a bit more wary than the last.

"Yeah, well," he said, quickly brushing her hand away. "That's just my way. I don't mean anything by it, Lola."

"Too bad," Shepard returned, leaning against the railing again.

Vega chuckled, giving her a quick, engaging once-over, before leaning one strong arm against the balcony railing. "Yeah?" he asked, playfully. "Who's the shameless flirt now?"

"So you can give it, but you can't take it," Shepard observed, teasingly, reaching over to tap him on the arm.

"No," Vega returned, seeming a bit surprised. "I mean, it's just… you're my Commander, _por Dios_! Besides, I thought you and Garrus had a… thing."

"We do," Shepard told him, giving an assuring nod, before adding, thoughtfully, "…Kind of."

"Right," Vega agreed, nodding back and giving another soft, uncertain laugh. Then, wetting his lips, he looked up at her again, curious. "Hey," he asked her, haltingly. "How do you two…?" He hesitated, trailing off, uncertain how to phrase the question, before lifting his hands and making an awkward, turning gesture, as if trying to demonstrate what he was talking about. "I mean, is he…?" he tried again, just as uncertainly. "Y'know. Do turians have all the same…?"

"Same…?" Shepard asked, narrowing her eyes, testing him.

Vega faltered, chewing his lip, as if weighing the importance of knowing the answer versus not embarrassing himself any more than he already had. Finally, he seemed to decide it was not worth it, and instead let his hands drop back to his sides again. "Nevermind," he told her, shaking his head. "I don't really want to know."

"SHEPARD!" Wrex called from the sitting-room, causing both Shepard and Vega to turn attentively to look down at him over the balcony. "Get down here! I need you to come settle something for me. It's important."

"I'll be right back," Shepard told Vega, holding up a patient finger as she turned to descend the stairs again. "Don't go anywhere. And hold that thought." Making her way down to the lower floor of the apartment, she meandered decisively into the sitting-room, tucking her hands into her hoodie pockets as she came to stand expectantly across from Wrex. "You called?" she asked, glancing around at the small group of crewmates who seemed to have gathered all of a sudden. Grunt peered at her eagerly from over Wrex's shoulder, while Javik, ever disapproving, watched her warily from the couch. Even Cortez and Joker seemed to be listening in on the conversation from their respective seats at the bar as Wrex cleared his throat loudly, preparing to address the issue.

"Shepard," Wrex told her, solemnly. "I heard a disturbing rumour while I was here on the Citadel. I wouldn't normally believe something like this, but it came from a reliable source. Someone who I know knows you well."

"What was it?" Shepard asked, simultaneously nervous and intrigued.

Wrex frowned, drawing his drink in towards his chest as he and Grunt exchanged grave looks. Then, turning his attention back to Shepard, he took in a deep breath. "Shepard," he told her, his voice lower, concerned. "I heard a rumour you were pregnant. Is that true?"

Shepard instantly choked, feeling her face turn a stark, ashen white. Before she could even get the first word out, however, Wrex's frown began to waver, the krogan clearly struggling to keep a straight face. Then, finally, unable to hold it in any longer, he let out a loud, amused snort, his hardened façade cracking as be burst into a loud, booming laugh, reaching over to slap Shepard heartily on the back. "Oh," he said. "You should have seen your face! _Hah!_ I've heard some crazy stuff about you in my day, Shepard, but that one takes the prize. You might have to start converting the Normandy into a nursery soon, am I right? Hang little Reapers from the baby's crib."

"Who told you I was pregnant, Wrex?" Shepard asked, forcing an equally incredulous laugh as she looked between the two krogan, who seemed to think it was the funniest thing in the world.

"Who do you think?" Wrex guffawed, pressing a clawed hand to his chest to help him breathe through his rowdy laughter. "It was that nutbag Verner, of course. He was over by the docking bay trying to barter with a volus for a spacecraft." Giving another grunt of laughter, he made a broad, indicative gesture with the hand holding his drink. "Said _Commander Shepard_ told him to get it," he added, amused. "Said she was pregnant and had specifically told him that she wanted him to get a ship so they could run off together after the War. That wasn't even the best part, though. The best part was – he said the baby was _his_."

"That son of a bitch," Zaeed swore, sidling up to join the conversation, the tattooed hand not holding his beer moving to prop indignantly against his hip. "He knows full well that baby is mine. How dare he try to lay claim to my little Shepard spawn." At this, Wrex and Grunt both let out another loud, raucous guffaw of laughter, joined this time by Zaeed, who clapped a reassuring hand to Shepard's shoulder as he laughed.

"This is your fault," Shepard hissed, still half-horrified by the entire conversation despite her amusement.

"So what're you planning on naming the kid?" Wrex asked, still hopelessly amused by the topic. "Garrus, right? Or no – _Wrex_. You should name it Wrex."

"Oh, give it a rest, you old dinosaur," Zaeed teased, reaching over to give Wrex a friendly tap on the arm with the back of his hand. "Can't you see the lady's had enough ribbing for a bit? Leave her in peace." Turning away from the two krogan, Zaeed gave a jerk of his chin, indicating for Shepard to come, too, breaking her away from the conversation. "Sorry about that," he murmured under his breath, jerking his thumb back towards Wrex and Grunt, who were now suggesting baby names to one another and laughing uproariously about it. "Didn't realize it'd circle back so quickly. Kinda figured it might die out before getting back around to the Normandy crew."

"Yeah, well, you don't know Conrad Verner like I do," Shepard told him, giving a soft scoff of humourless laughter. "Once he takes an interest in something, it _never_ goes away."

"Hm," Zaeed grunted, noncommittal. "Guess I'll just have to start a new rumour about you for them, then. Get them off this baby train."

"Please don't," Shepard pleaded, giving another horrified breath of laughter. "I still need them to respect me at least a _little_ bit when it's time for us to actually go to war."

"Bah, Shepard," Zaeed chuckled, turning his amused, mismatched gaze onto her. "You worry too much, you know that? These people, your crewmates… they love you. I don't think there's anything you could do at this point that would make them respect you any less."

Shepard paused, considering this, before narrowing her eyes at Zaeed. "…I don't think you worded that quite the way you intended to," she told him, scrutinisingly.

"Maybe, maybe not," Zaeed returned, shrugging. "All I know is, they adore you. And I'm pretty well fond of you myself, come to think of it. In fact, if I were twenty years younger, Shepard, you and I… we'd make a great pair."

"We make a great pair now," Shepard told him, offering a reassuring pat against his scuffed chestplate.

"Yeah," Zaeed agreed. "I guess we do. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'm gonna go… admire the artwork for a bit."

At this, Shepard turned, looking over towards the back wall where she knew the artwork to be, and was less than surprised to see Samara standing in front of the large, splatter-coloured painting, browsing over it intently. Smirking, she turned her attention back to Zaeed, arching one intuitive, sculpted brow at him. "Admire the artwork, huh?" she asked.

"I never did say _which_ artwork I was admiring," Zaeed reasoned, defensively, though he could not keep one corner of his mouth from hitching upwards in amusement at having been caught. "It's a beautiful body of work to be sure. Am I right or what?"

"Get over there," Shepard laughed, giving him a light push in Samara's direction. "Go on. Loverboy."

"Wish me luck," Zaeed smirked, self-assured, as he began towards the formless, unattractive painting on the wall and the shapely, elegant asari admiring it.

"Yeah, good luck!" Shepard called after him, still chuckling to herself. Having been blessedly separated from the conversation in the foyer, she now found herself free to roam the apartment again, and she wandered first into the kitchen, listening in for a bit to the conversation going on wherein Tali and Liara regaled Traynor about their earliest memories of serving alongside Shepard, before leaving to explore the other parts of the house and see what other conversations were going on around her. Exiting the kitchen, she was quick to spot Garrus sitting on the couch closest to the front of the apartment, his long arm draped lazily across the backs of the cushions as he watched Joker and EDI across the floor attempting to mimic some semblance of dancing with a look of mixed amusement and warmth. He looked up instantaneously as soon as Shepard approached him, clearly much more interested in her than in their crewmates' questionable efforts at rhythm, and offered her a quick, genial smile as she sat down on the couch with him, stretching her legs out comfortably in front of her and letting out a long, soft sigh, glad to be off her feet, if only momentarily.

"How are you holding up?" she asked him, looking over at him, interestedly, just loudly enough for him to hear.

Garrus paused, inhaling deeply as he looked back over towards Shepard again, before letting out his breath in a low, soft sigh and smiling fondly down at her. "Good," he told her. "Really good. This party was a great idea, Shepard. Everybody's having a lot of fun."

"Are you?" Shepard asked, inquisitive, tucking her hands in the pockets of her hoodie.

"Am I what?" Garrus asked, surprised.

"Having fun," Shepard told him, pointedly. "You said everybody was having fun. Are you having fun?"

"Am I not part of 'everybody'?" Garrus asked, giving a soft, sceptical chuckle in return. "Don't worry about me, Shepard. I'm having a great time. Why do you ask? Aren't _you_ having any fun?"

"A little," Shepard answered, truthfully, giving a half-hearted shrug of one shoulder.

"Only a little?" Garrus pried.

"I'm having fun, Garrus," Shepard assured him. "Really. It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

Garrus paused, thinking about this, before suddenly sliding in closer to her, draping his arm around her shoulders and nudging her cheek affectionately with his nose, causing her to give a small, soft laugh in response. " _Youuu_ are my girlfriend," he reminded her, speaking in a low voice in her ear, dotingly. "Worrying about you is my job."

"It's nothing," Shepard reiterated. "Just…" Here, she sighed, discouraged, holding out her hands in front of her, before finally seeming to give up the ghost. "Miranda called me fat," she told him, frankly. Looking up into his face then, she frowned up at him, worriedly. "Is she right?" she asked, making a face, her voice barely above a mortified whisper. "Am I getting fat?"

Garrus faltered at this question, staring at her for a moment, his expression oddly unreadable, as if every comedy-punchline human nightmare he never thought he would encounter in real life had suddenly come true all at once. "Nooo," he finally told her, much too late, his voice an odd, drawn-out coo, as if trying to convince himself at the same time. "You're not… fat. You're not. She's wrong." He paused here, thinking, before adding, quickly, "And besides, even if you were, it wouldn't bother me. I like a girl with a bit of meat on her bones. It's _sexy_."

At this, Shepard paused, staring at him for a moment, horrified. "I can't tell if you're trying to make me feel better or worse," she finally told him, honestly.

"Better," Garrus answered, frankly. "I was aiming for better. Did I miss the mark?"

"By a longshot," Shepard informed him.

"Damn," Garrus swore, looking down at his hands again. "And here I thought I was doing so well." Taking a deep breath, he held it a moment before letting it out in a long, tired sigh. "Listen, Shepard," he told her, reassuringly. "All I know is, all of us… we handle stress differently. Some of us might gain weight, others might lose it… some might start collecting things, or they might start throwing things away. It's never the same for any two people. And, you know, there's nothing wrong with any of that." He paused here, thoughtful, before suddenly looking over at her again, optimistic. "Besides," he added. "It could be worse. I've noticed you drinking a lot less than you used to since I've been back on your crew. Since Palaven. That's a good thing! If all of us could follow your example, I'm sure most of us would… probably… live a lot longer."

"You…" Shepard started to say, but stopped, dropping her head and letting out a soft, disbelieving laugh. Then, looking up at him again, she raised her eyebrows with a wide, incredulous smirk. "Wow," she told him. "You _really_ went out of your way to try to make up for calling me fat."

"Did it work?" Garrus asked, hopefully.

"Not a chance," Shepard answered, shaking her head. Then, pushing herself up off the couch, she turned, reaching over to him, and tapped him playfully on the nose. "Have fun tooting your own horn tonight," she told him.

"Aw, Shepard n— come on," Garrus pleaded, looking utterly distraught as she turned away from him to join the rest of the party. "Don't do that to me! It was an accident! _Shepard!_ Ah… shit."

* * *

The more the guests at the party drank, the looser they became, and the rowdier the party got as a result. Shepard picked her way across a nearly-perfect string of bottles that had been lined up along the perimeter of the kitchen, blocking the doorway that led to the study-lounge. It looked as if someone had been trying to make a border around the outermost edge of the kitchen with the empty bottles from the party, but had only managed to fill up half of one of the walls thus far. This was no small feat, as the kitchen in the apartment was large enough to hold at least three of the tiny kitchenette from the Normandy, and she only hoped her guests would not try to push their luck and ring the entire kitchen by the end of the night. She already had enough problems to contend with as it was, without adding the hospitalization of crew members due to overpartying to her list.

It did not take long for the sound of banter and accompanying laugher to reach her ears, with Traynor's silvery giggle overlapped by Wrex's deep, gruff chuckle, and she casually followed the sound of good times until it led all the way into the master bathroom. The first thing she saw upon entering the room was that the floor around the hot tub was littered with discarded clothes, including two sets of distinctive armour that Shepard could not help but feel inexplicably uneasy at the mere sight of without their owners inside. The water bubbled invitingly over the sound of conversation, which was broken every so often by Wrex's familiar, booming laugh, and as Shepard came to stand by the side of the tub, she could hardly believe that so many people had managed to fit inside all at once.

Wrex, unsurprisingly, took up the entire back wall of the tub by himself, while against the right wall, Cortez and Traynor soaked in the warm, bubbly water, submerged to just below the tops of their shoulders. Up against the left wall, Vega and Ashley sat huddled together, with Vega's arm draped casually across the rim of the tub, looping around the dark-haired woman's shoulders. Zaeed sat the closest to Shepard's side of the tub, and he looked up at her expectantly as she approached, watching as she came to stand warily at the edge, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as she looked over the spectacle with mixed amusement and horror.

"Shepard! Get in!" Wrex invited eagerly, passing his clawed hand enticingly under the water's effervescent surface, causing a stream of white bubbles to follow in its wake.

Shepard shook her head at his invitation, taking a wary step back. "No… thank you," she told him, laughing faintly. "As inviting as it looks, I think I'll pass. At least for tonight."

"Aw, come on," Wrex pleaded, giving another sharp pass through the water, causing another stream of white bubbles to appear. "There's no judgement here. Besides, what's to be afraid of? Almost all of us have already seen you naked at least once before."

"Not _you_ ," Shepard laughed, raising her brows, a bit shocked.

"Yeah, well, you know what that is?" Wrex rumbled, chuckling as he leaned back against his side of the hot tub, resting his thick, plated arms over the edge. "Xenophobia. Everybody else but the krogan gets a peek. I thought we were supposed to be allies, Shepard. How am I supposed to trust you if you let everyone but me see you naked?"

"She just doesn't want everyone to see the embarrassing tattoo she's got on her bum," Zaeed informed him, casually sipping at his beer.

Wrex immediately looked up at Shepard again, an expression of gleeful amusement on his broad face as if he had just struck gold. Then, giving a loud, thunderous guffaw, he slapped the surface of the hot tub in mirth, splashing Vega and Ashley with an unexpected wave of water. "That's what you get, Shepard!" he boomed, still laughing raucously. "I hope it says something really—I hope it says 'I love Wrex'. I hope that's what it says. Is it?"

"Well," Zaeed answered, raising his scarred brows as he looked down at the label of the beer in his hand, pointedly not looking at Shepard. "It certainly says 'I love'- _something_. I couldn't tell you what name it was, though. For that, you'll have to ask the Commander." Turning his head slowly, he looked up at Shepard then, puckish and expectant. "What's the verdict, Shepard?" he asked. "You gonna drop drawer for your crew or what? We're all waiting with bated breath."

"Show us your ass, Shepard!" Wrex cheered.

"I'm not showing you my ass," Shepard retorted, laughing incredulously. "How does it always – how do we always end up having these conversations? First you say I'm pregnant, now you want me to drop my pants—"

"Yeah, usually it happens the other way around," Cortez agreed, causing the rest of the crew in the hot tub to give loud noises of amused approval.

"You're terrible," Shepard told him, still laughing. "You're _all_ terrible. I'm leaving."

"Booo," Traynor jeered, cupping her hands around her mouth as Shepard turned to leave the hot tub. "Boo, Shepard. Show us your arse!"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours!" Ashley joined in.

"I'm not showing any of you my ass!" Shepard called over her shoulder, and she could hear the resulting chorus of 'boos' following her as she rounded the corner out of the master bathroom and into the bedroom beyond. Still laughing at the spectacle going on in her master bathroom, Shepard made her way out to the upstairs balcony again, and was somehow less than surprised to see Garrus standing there, leaning against the railing as Vega had done only a few hours earlier, staring solemnly out over the apartment, seemingly lost in thought. Moving over to lean on the balcony railing next to him, she nudged him playfully on the arm with her shoulder, causing him to look down at her, interested, before turning his attention back out towards the view with a soft, fond chuckle.

"Well hey there, stranger," he greeted her, good-naturedly. "Funny seeing you around these parts."

"You're on my property now, cowboy," Shepard reminded him, leaning her head against his armoured arm. "Ain't nothing funny about it."

A long, genial moment of silence stretched between them as they stood together, quietly, simply enjoying the view and each other's company. Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, Garrus gave a soft snort, followed by a short, halted hissing noise, and Shepard quickly turned to look up at him, startled, wondering if something was wrong. Instead, unable to hold it in any longer, Garrus let out a raucous, almost manic-sounding giggle as he turned to look down at her, his expression entertainingly conspiratorial, and Shepard could hardly decide between feeling irritated that he was keeping something from her that he found so obviously entertaining and relieved that he was only harmfully amused about something, and that there was not something seriously wrong with him otherwise.

"What?" Shepard asked him, her vexed expression halfway between a smirk and a frown. "What's so funny, Garrus? Tell me."

"No, it… it's nothing," Garrus told her, still laughing, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the view from the balcony. "Really, it's nothing. It's stupid."

" _What is it?_ " Shepard insisted, grabbing hold of his arm and giving it an annoyed, playful shake. "What is it, Garrus?! Tell me!"

"I hear you're… pregnant," Garrus told her, haltingly, looking over at her again and trying hard to stifle another snort of laughter. "I heard, it… I hear it's Wrex's. Or… Grunt's. One of those two. I can't remember whose it was now. But it was definitely one of those two."

Shepard faltered, taken aback by this new development. On the one hand, she had absolutely no problem with being poked fun at from time to time, if it was done respectfully, and the way this rumour was snowballing through her crew was making for unquestionably innocent, harmless – if inexplicably bizarre – fun. On the other hand, however, she could not help but feel that having Garrus hear about this concept through this clearly humorous channel first might do irreversible harm to the credibility of her statement when she finally did try to tell him the truth about her current state of affairs. "Okay, one, it was Zaeed's," she corrected him quickly, dropping her hands from his arm and trying hard not to laugh, herself at how ridiculously out of hand Zaeed's innocuous rumour had become. "Then it was Conrad Verner's. This is the first I've heard of it being Wrex's baby. I'm not entirely sure I like this development. I think I'd much rather go back to it being Zaeed's. Or maybe even yours."

"I think – I think you'd know if you were pregnant with Wrex's baby," Garrus reasoned, dropping his head to look over at her, pragmatically, ignoring completely her addendum about it possibly being his. "Big krogan more than likely make for big… other… smaller krogan. Whatever those are called… what are those called, again?"

"What, little krogan?" Shepard asked, thwarted but still amused. "I think they're just called babies, honestly."

"Right, right," Garrus agreed, nodding along. "Big babies. Plus, oh… I bet a big krogan like that has probably got a great… big… krogan—" But before he could finish, her hand had quickly clapped over his mouth, keeping him from completing the thought. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one had heard the lewd, meandering line of conversation, Shepard gradually pulled her hand away from his mouth again, looking up at him with incredulity, which was met only with a look of amused adoration on his part. "I was going to say _family_ ," he told her, cheekily, letting out a soft, low chuckle at her reaction. "Look whose mind is in the gutter now, pervert."

"You're drunk," Shepard told him, laughing quietly as she buried her face in his shoulder-plate.

"I'm _very_ drunk," Garrus agreed, leaning down to nestle his nose and mouth in her hair. Taking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes, nuzzling further into her hair before letting out a soft, contented grunt. "I like your hair," he told her, his voice muffled by her locks. "I like it a lot. The rest of you is pretty okay, too."

"Just pretty okay?" Shepard asked, smirking.

"Pretty… pretty okay," Garrus agreed. "Two pretties."

"Two pretties," Shepard repeated, laughing quietly again. "Okay. Well, as long as I've got that going for me."

"Hm," Garrus grunted again, assenting. He stayed that way for a moment, with his face buried contentedly in her hair, before suddenly taking a deep, sharp breath and lifting his head again, looking down at her, inquiringly. "Does he have one, though?" he asked, intently, his voice barely above a low, baritone whisper.

Shepard paused, looking up at him, before narrowing her eyes at him, suspicious. "Does he have one what?" she asked, warily, certain she knew the answer to her question but not certain she wanted to admit it.

"A… you know," Garrus told her, lowering his voice even further and giving an awkward, noncommittal half-shrug. "A big… penis."

"How am I supposed to know whether or not Wrex has a big penis?" Shepard insisted, her voice barely above a hiss, not wanting any of the other party guests to hear.

"Well, I assume—" Garrus started to say, fidgeting, suddenly seeming uncomfortable. "I mean, I thought you _saw_ , over at the hot tub. He's, they're all… and I thought you'd… you could…"

"I didn't look," Shepard told him, frankly. "Why in the world would I look?"

"I don't know," Garrus whispered back, sounding almost disappointed now. "I just thought you would. Though, now, well… hm. I guess it would be awkward for me to go over and try to look now, wouldn't it…"

"Yeah," Shepard agreed, incredulously, barely able to stifle a disbelieving, almost horrified laugh. "Yeah, it would. Why do you want to know so badly, anyway?"

"Well it's a matter of _principle_ now," Garrus told her, fairly, turning to look at her with the most solemn look she had ever seen from an intoxicated person. "Now I want to _know_. I don't even really _want_ to know, I just… _want to know_. You know?"

"No," Shepard confessed, honestly, shaking her head as she tucked her hands defeatedly into the pockets of her hoodie. "I can't say that I've ever wanted to look at another person's genitals out of a sense of _principle_."

"Well, you're not a man," Garrus told her, sounding almost huffy now as he turned to look out at the apartment view. "It's different for us. Territorial, hormonal… type… it's a _thing_ , Shepard, believe me."

"I believe you," Shepard laughed, reaching up to bring his face down to hers and giving him a fond, amused kiss on the mouth.

This seemed to calm Garrus' nerves considerably, as he quickly relaxed in her grasp, letting out a low, soft purring sound as she pressed her forehead to his, affectionately. "Shepard," he asked her, slowly, as he drew their faces apart, staring deeply into her bright-green eyes with his own avian blue ones. "Is it just the alcohol, or do you have vids running in your head of us mostly naked, completely alone… and shamelessly rolling all over a couch?"

"I'm not drinking tonight," Shepard reminded him, arching an incredulous brow.

"Right, right," Garrus drawled, nodding slowly in agreement. " _Youuu_ aren't drinking. You just want to get _me_ drunk so you can take advantage of me. Or drop a major bombshell on me, one or the other… though honestly I'm kind of hoping for the former."

At this, Shepard's smile faltered, fading a bit from her face as she remembered her earlier conversation with Liara. She had been mostly joking at the time, but now that she thought about it, she began to realize that this was likely the once-in-a-lifetime opportune moment she had been waiting for to do what she had been putting off doing for so many weeks before this. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she wet her lips, her expression turning suddenly solemn as she stared him in the face, steeling herself to tell the truth. "Garrus," she told him, slowly, working hard to keep her voice from shaking with nerves. "I… need to talk to you about something."

"I'd rather we just work it out nonverbally," Garrus was quick to return, purring in her ear as his mandibles traced their way up the slope of her neck. "First, you can enlighten me… then… I can regale you…"

"I…" Shepard started to argue, but quickly lost her train of thought, finding the sensation against her skin too distracting to ignore. "You are… _unfairly_ smooth when you're drunk," she told him, barely able to hold in a short, astonished laugh.

"I don't hear you complaining," Garrus returned, smirking. "…Yet."

"You expecting some negative feedback later, Mister Vakarian?" Shepard asked, running a gentle, teasing fingernail up the line of his neck, up under his chin.

"Well, maybe not _negative feedback_ ," Garrus amended, his voice still a low, relaxing hum in her ear. "But, maybe some… moaning, and… groaning… maybe even some whimpering, if I play my cards right."

"You are _terrible_ ," Shepard laughed, feeling a slow-building hot flush began to creep over her as he purred in her ear again, causing her to give a small noise of pleasure in return.

"I thought you _liked_ a bad boy," Garrus told her, his voice deep and sensual. Pressing her thighs together, Shepard gave a small, almost surprised gasp as her underwear began to feel impetuously wet, and she suddenly found any thought of what she might have been wanting to talk to him about pushed from her mind as he nuzzled his face against her cheek, causing an involuntary lump to rise from her stomach up into her chest. Her heart gave a shudder as it began to race eagerly against her ribcage, causing her blood to pump, hot, through her veins as she turned to face him, taking his face in her hands and pressing a rousing kiss to his mouth. "Now _that's_ more like it," Garrus grinned, pleasantly surprised, before pressing her up against the edge of the glasswork balcony, one hand gripping the railing on each side of her as she kissed him again, deeply. Shepard gave a little, intent moan of pleasure as he began to kiss her neck again, playfully at first, but then more avidly the more he got into it.

Just then, the sound of a loud, wordless exclamation of frustration got their attention, and they looked up in time to see Zaeed standing at the end of the hallway in nothing but a towel, staring over at them with a look of amused disgust. "Oh, get a room, you two," he told them, waving a mockingly disapproving hand in their direction. "Bah." Then, turning away from them again, he staggered off towards the adjoining guest rooms, looking for a place to lie down.

Garrus blinked, taken aback by the unexpected display of unwarranted, uncovered middle-aged man flesh. "That was…" he started to say.

"Traumatising," Shepard finished, nodding in agreement. "Yeah."

"Let's… get a room," Garrus suggested, looking down at her and trying to stifle a soft, somewhat horrified laugh.

"Good idea," Shepard agreed. "Follow me."


	21. WEEK THIRTEEN, Pt.3

The party was beginning to wind down by now, and while most of the guests had taken to crashing on the couches or extra beds, a few had taken to sprawling unceremoniously over the floors instead, making for a veritable obstacle course for Garrus and Shepard to reach the master bedroom. The home had been built for two, with very little privacy between rooms, and as such there did not seem to be any doors closing off one room from the next, including the master bedroom. Shepard giggled as Garrus began to pull her hoodie and shirt up over her head, tossing them aside on the bedroom floor as they collapsed onto the bed, her on top straddling him as they kissed, feverishly, their playful romp interrupted only by the sounds of his deep chuckles and little commentaries and her hushing him in a whispered voice while trying not to laugh, herself. Her pants were fast to go next, deftly unfastened and tossed aside with the rest of her clothes, his clawed fingers working effortlessly through her outer layers despite his intoxicated state.

He knew much better than she did the fastest way to take off his armour, and he was only too eager to guide her fingers to all the right points. Before long the hefty turian armour was on the floor alongside Shepard's clothes, the only thing still between them her bra and underwear, which Garrus was quick to make short work of. Hooking his clawed thumbs into the edges of her panties, he dragged them down her pale legs, leaving faint, pink lines in her flesh as he kissed his way from the bottom of her bra down her ribcage, past her navel, his mandibles tickling the now-sensitive skin of her exposed stomach, and on downward. As he reached the farthest point, Shepard gasped, letting out a soft exclamation before quickly stuffing her fist into her mouth to stop herself from making noise and waking up the other houseguests.

Moving her hand downward, she ran her fingers over the tough plating of his forehead, sliding her fingertips excitedly up his spines as far as she could reach as his sharp teeth scraped gently against her soft folds, his pointed, bird-like tongue exploring in ways that made her bite down on her fist to keep from crying out loud in unexpected pleasure. His mandibles fluttered against the edges, adding extra sensation, and Shepard could feel the skin of her knuckles straining under her teeth as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying her hardest not to disturb the peace. Her toes curled as he slid his hands up her thighs, her body tensing against his grasp, her legs shuddering as he delved lower, sending a chill of ecstasy up her spine, causing her back to arch off the bed. Then, with one last kiss, it was over, and Shepard's body finally relaxed again, her red, bite-marked hand dropping from her mouth to her side, clutching a handful of covers weakly as she breathed heavily, trying to recover.

Climbing up over her again, Garrus planted a kiss between her breasts, moving first up one side, and then the other. Shifting so he could reach the clasp on her back, Shepard allowed him to remove her bra and toss it aside with the rest of their clothes, before laying back again and watching as he kissed each exposed breast, his mouth playing coyly over each sensitive nipple. She bit back a hiss of pain as he kissed a bit more enthusiastically, not wanting to clue him in to her soreness, before gently guiding his face to her collarbone, and from there, her neck. He kissed up the length of her pale neck, under her chin, across the line of her jaw, forcing her to lift her head to receive the gently enthused kisses, and she ran her hand down the side of his throat, her fingers trailing over the sleek, cool scales, drawing a line down the plated spines at the back of his neck.

Using her free hand, Shepard reached down, feeling her way down the length of his abdomen to his pelvic sheath before sliding her fingers inside the folded flaps and touching the membrane inside. Garrus gasped, letting out a low, grunting moan, his body giving a shudder as she coaxed his member out of its sheath. Her fingers ran temptingly along the tender, slick shaft, causing the natural internalized cleansing fluid from the pocket to dribble down onto the sheet as he stood to throbbing attention. Burying his face in her neck, he draped his arm over her, gripping the sheet near her shoulder as she began to move her hand slowly up and down his length, the pad of her thumb caressing the sensitive membrane as he whimpered, letting out short, breathless huffs of pleasure as she pressed towards the bottom, his breath hot on her neck as she returned to the top.

His aseptic fluid coated her hand, dripping down the back of her wrist in thick, runny lines, and he moaned again, his body giving another shudder in response to her touch, before he pulled out of her hand, moving on top of her and kissing the side of her neck. His clawed fingers slid between her legs, searching, before finally finding what he wanted and sliding in easily, causing her to have to bite her lip to keep from letting out a loud, high-pitched moan of pleasure. Reaching up towards him, she took his head between her hands, arching her neck backward, before jerking her head indicatively towards the other side of the bed and breathing, "I'm on top."

They paced themselves slowly that evening so as not to wake up everyone around them. Once their positions had shifted, Shepard stayed on top, her hands pressed firmly against the pillows at either side of his head as she led their movement, rocking her hips against the curve of his body and feeling the support of his strong legs driving the repetitive, almost hypnotic motion. Every so often they would hear the sound of someone stirring, and she would quickly cup a hand over Garrus' mouth, shushing him, but, once the danger had passed, she would take it away again, replacing it with her lips and kissing him apologetically. He ran his hands lovingly over the outline of her form, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of her hips before sliding around to her backside, grasping wantingly at the toned curves, letting out breathless huffs and grunts of pleasure every time his body met hers on the downward motion.

Shepard moaned with each re-entry, her hair pressed, wet, to the back of her neck as she lingered, before a shudder of excitement ran down her spine and she leaned in to kiss him again, the kiss broken only by her little gasps of ecstasy every time he hit her pleasure point. Leaning back again, she allowed him to take the lead on the motions, using her legs to ground her as he continued to press into her, slowly but vigorously. His hands moved around her form, first holding her ribcage, then sliding down to her hips, before finally passing over her stomach. At this, Shepard looked down, pulled suddenly from the moment at the feeling of his hands pressed against her tender stomach, and her legs suddenly went slack, her entire body losing its aroused rigidity as she stared at his hands on her abdomen. Realizing something was wrong, Garrus began to stop slowly, too, until finally they were simply sitting in still silence.

Still trying to catch her breath, Shepard moved her hands over Garrus', curling her fingers around the edges of his as she stared down at their hands pressed against her stomach, thoughtfully. Garrus stared at their hands for a moment as well, quietly, before looking up at Shepard again, as if expecting some sort of explanation for her unusual mannerisms. "Shepard?" he asked, frowning faintly, concerned. "Are… you okay?"

Shepard stared at their hands for a little while longer, pensive. Then, letting his hands drop away from her stomach again, she moved off of him onto the bed, laying on her back beside him and staring blankly up at the ceiling, expressionless. She stayed that way for a long time, saying nothing, until finally, she reached over, taking his arm in both hands, and pulled it across her nude chest, holding his hand against her face and letting out a long, soft sigh. "That boy," she told him, quietly. "The one I told you about, back on Earth. The one I couldn't save. I… did try to help him. I told him to come to me and I'd get him out of there, but he… he wouldn't. He wouldn't do it. I don't know why." Pressing his palm against her cheek, she frowned faintly, barely even noticing as he began to softly pass his thumb across her cheek, comforting her.

"He told me… he said… I couldn't help him," she said, her voice distant, as if she had never really considered the boy's wording before then. "Not that he wouldn't let me – but that I _couldn't do it_. And he was right. I couldn't help him. That Reaper killed him, that innocent little boy, and there was nothing I could do about it." Lowering her gaze, she stared down at their nude forms for another long, silent moment. "That one moment has haunted me more than almost anything else in this war so far," she finally spoke up again, quietly. "What if… what if that little boy is right? What if it's not just him, what… what if I can't save _anyone_? I never asked for people to depend on me the way they have – what if I fail all of them? All of you?"

"Hey, now," Garrus cooed, concerned, leaning over to press a gentle, worried kiss on the side of her face. "That doesn't sound like the Shepard I know. You've never worried about what other people said before – why start now? Lots of people have said you couldn't do things, but you did them anyway." He paused a moment, considering, before letting out a low, rumbling chuckle. "That's kind of your thing, actually," he told her, amused. "Doing things people tell you can't be done. You remember the suicide mission? They said it was impossible, but you did it without a single casualty. Who else could have pulled that off but Commander Shepard?"

"It's not the same thing, Garrus," Shepard countered, turning her head to look over at him. "I had all of you then. All of your help, and expertise. We were a team, and we pulled through as a team. This… this is just me. My shortcomings. My failings." Falling silent, she looked up at the ceiling again, passing a distracted hand slowly over her exposed stomach before finally letting it come to rest. "I want a baby," she suddenly spoke up again, quietly. "But… a planned baby. One on my own terms. One I know I can take care of, because I'm prepared to take care of it. I don't want to be _stuck_ with one. Unable to care for it. That would be…" Staring blankly up at the ceiling, she ran the pad of her thumb across the cool, rough scaling of the hand against her cheek. "…Terrible," she finished, sadly.

Garrus paused, surprised by this unusual, seemingly random concern, but before he could say anything about it, Shepard turned to look at him, raising her brows, intent. "Garrus," she said. " _If_ we could have a baby… the two of us, a human-turian baby…"

"…Okay," Garrus agreed, hesitant but intrigued.

"What… would you like to have?" Shepard asked, trying her hardest not to sound genuinely concerned about what he might say on the matter.

Garrus thought on this a moment, unsure how to answer what appeared to be a loaded question. Then, purring gently, he shifted his body against hers, snuggling up closer to her on the bed. "Mmm… I'd want a girl, I think," he told her, nuzzling his face into the slope of her neck, his mandibles tickling against the line of her shoulder. "Yeah. A little girl. Call her Solana, like my sister. Or maybe Solara. Mix it up a little bit." Taking a deep breath, he slid his other arm under her shoulders, drawing her in towards him, so close he was almost speaking directly into her ear. "She'd have… hair like yours," he told her. "Have to. And… my eyes, of course. My… chin."

"Your chin?" Shepard repeated, incredulous, quirking a brow.

"What's wrong with my chin?" Garrus asked, chuckling. "It's a good chin. Good, strong feature. Anybody would be lucky to have it."

"Including our little girl?" Shepard asked, smirking.

" _Especially_ our little girl," Garrus confirmed, closing his eyes and moving in closer towards her. "She'd have, oh… your hands. But my feet."

"Wow," Shepard said, grinning, amused.

"She'd have my… debonair charm," Garrus went on. "And your… unparalleled dancing capabilities."

"You're a jerk," Shepard laughed, wrinkling up her nose.

"Oh, I'm not done yet," Garrus assured her. "She'd also have your nose… but my mouth. And your ears."

"You realize what you're describing is basically a monster," Shepard told him, simultaneously amused and horrified by the proverbial Frankenstein creature he was concocting.

"A _pretty_ monster," Garrus corrected her, pointedly. "With nice hair."

Shepard chuckled gently, reaching over to pull his face towards her and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Right," she said, agreeable, letting him go again. "With nice hair. Of course." Laying back again, she nuzzled her cheek into the palm of his hand, sliding her bare foot over the length of his rough, scaly leg, her toes curling around the spike at the back of his calf. In return, he slid his knee under her leg, entwining them, one over the other. "I think I'd like to have a boy," she suddenly spoke up again, staring up at the ceiling, thoughtfully.

"Oh, no," Garrus assured her, shaking his head. "You don't want a boy. Nobody wants a boy. Boys are terrible." Rolling back onto his back as well, he retrieved the hand that had been laid across her to rest it against his own chest, drumming thoughtfully as he stared up at the ceiling. "Just ask my poor, long-suffering sister," he added, chuckling. "Boys are bad news."

"What's wrong with a boy?" Shepard asked, turning onto her stomach to look up at him. Resting her arm across his chest, she settled her chin into the crook of her elbow, smiling up into his face, expectantly.

"Well," Garrus told her, pragmatically. "For one, if we have a boy, he'd probably end up looking like me, and nobody deserves that."

"You're so mean," Shepard laughed, unable to help herself.

"And for another," Garrus went on, undeterred. "Do you know that turians have three testicles? _Three_. If he ended up having exterior genetalia like humans do and he went to school with the other human children, do you have any idea how many weird awkward questions he'd have to answer when he got older? Old enough to start having a personal life?"

"Krogan have four testicles," Shepard reminded him, raising her brows. "And they have outside genetalia. It's not so strange."

"Oh, well, then," Garrus laughed, incredulous. "The next time I come across a human-krogan child I'll be sure to tell him that. Were you intending on having some of those? Expand the family a little more?"

"No," Shepard laughed back, embarrassed.

"Good," Garrus purred, leaning over her to press another fond kiss against her lips. "I think our baby might get jealous otherwise."

"Our weird, mish-mash… redheaded baby," Shepard chuckled, smiling up at him.

"Solara," Garrus agreed.

"Right," Shepard said, snuggling up to him with a soft laugh. "Solara." A moment of peaceful silence fell between them as they lay in bed together, staring up at the ceiling of the apartment. It felt strange, domestic almost, and completely out of character for her. Shepard was the type of woman who trained herself to drink her coffee black just so she would not have to waste extra time preparing it, and preferred pets without individual personalities so she could replace them easily when they inevitably died. To her, everything was temporary, and everything was fleeting, but this apartment, as Anderson had told her, had been bought for a man and a woman hoping to spend the rest of their lives together, and as she lay in this marital bed, enormous by comparison to the tiny, firm military-issue beds she was used to, she felt inexplicably out of place, like a stranger in her own home. However, despite all this, she also could not help the feeling that something about it felt oddly, unexplainably _right_.

Letting out a soft, tired sigh, Shepard turned over onto her side, nestling her head against Garrus' shoulder as she stared tenderly up into his face. "We are such a weird couple," she observed, amused. "A human and a turian. When I was younger I never would have guessed I'd end up here."

"Oh, I think you were always destined to be a little weird," Garrus joked back, chuckling gently. "As long as I've known you, I don't think you've ever been in a relationship with another human. Then again, I didn't really start paying attention until about a year ago, so…"

"Come on, now," Shepard insisted, shaking her head. "I was normal once. Jacob and I, you remember? We had a… thing, once."

"Mhmm," Garrus returned, sarcastic. "And by a 'thing' you mean you did it a couple times in the armoury and then never bothered getting in contact again."

"I… lost his number," Shepard explained.

"You're such a liar," Garrus laughed, leaning down to playfully kiss her stomach, causing her to roll over onto her back again with a soft, surprised laugh.

"Yeah, well, if it weren't for you I'd probably be pursuing Vega," Shepard told him, teasingly. "And I bet he'd be into it, too. So play nice. You can always be replaced."

Pulling himself upright again, Garrus moved over her, purring, a deep, throbbing hum in the back of his throat, before leaning down and beginning to graze the side of her neck with soft, adoring kisses. "You can't replace me," he told her, playfully. "I'm irreplaceable." Then, stopping in his kissing, he lay down beside her, his arm still curled around her, his avian blue gaze level with hers, telling. "You called us a couple," he told her, pointedly.

Shepard hesitated, staring over at him, suddenly realizing that he was right. "I—I mean," she said, hurriedly. "That's what you call two people. We're two people—"

"No, no, there are other words for that," Garrus corrected her, his voice a deep, contented rumble. "A pair, or a match, or a twosome – couple has a very specific connotation. You called us a couple."

"Well…" Shepard hesitated again, biting her lip, before finally asking, hopefully, "…Aren't we?"

Garrus considered this, tilting his head playfully side to side, before finally nodding, accordingly. "Mmyes," he told her, grinning at her. "I'd like to think we are. But only if you say it's so."

"Then I say it's so," Shepard answered, reaching over to cup his face fondly between her hands. "So says Commander Shepard. The first human Spectre."

"Oh, _well_ ," Garrus laughed softly in return, impressed. "You can't get it on much better authority than _that_. I guess it must be true." Then, leaning in towards her, he kissed her again, gently, before pressing his forehead dotingly against hers, nuzzling their noses together with a soft, deep purr.

"Thank you, Garrus," Shepard told him, smiling softly at his affections.

"For what?" Garrus asked.

"For this," Shepard answered, frankly, lifting her head to gently kiss his nose. "For… everything."

"Well, in that case, the same to you, Shepard," Garrus told her. Then, gently pulling her in towards him, he cradled her head affectionately against his chest, resting his chin on the top of her head, fitting them together like pieces of a puzzle. "Goodnight, Shepard," he told her, gently.

"Goodnight, Garrus," Shepard said.

* * *

Artificial sunlight streamed in through the slatted windows of the apartment, a slow-building, timer-operated brightening telling everyone in the Citadel it was time to wake up and face the new day. The sheets of the master bed rustled indignantly as the light gradually made its way into to the bedroom, shining in through the open archways and creeping its way up the length of the bed. Garrus groaned in response, quickly moving to pull the sheets up and over his head, enveloping the two of them in a sort of fabric cocoon in a vain attempt to put off the morning for as long as humanly possible. Shepard opened her eyes, pulling one arm from around his broad carapace to gently press it to the side of his face, running the pad of her thumb tenderly over his raised cheekbone. Then, leaning in towards him, she pressed a soft kiss to his nose, which warranted only a short, tired grunt in return.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she told him, gently, unable to keep from smiling.

"Is it morning already?" Garrus returned, letting out a low, soft groan. "That can't be right… come back to bed, and morning can try again in, say… three more hours?"

"Time waits for no man," Shepard reminded him, giving a soft chuckle.

"Well, you're a woman," Garrus informed her, pragmatically. "And I'm a turian. Neither of us fit that description."

"I'm gonna make some coffee," Shepard told him, pushing the covers away and sliding her legs out of bed. "I don't think Anderson has any coffee stocked that you can drink, but I'll see if I can find anything, anyway."

"Some headache medication would be nice," Garrus proposed, his voice becoming muffled as he slowly dragged the covers back over his head again. "And maybe some dextro Tupari, if you can find it."

Shepard pulled on her underwear, making a note to change into a new pair as soon as she got back on the Normandy, before sliding on and clasping her bra, noting not only the sharp, pinching pain, but also the fact that what had once fit perfectly into her cups was now beginning to spill over the top, almost disconcertingly. Gathering up the rest of her clothes from where they had been haphazardly scattered across the bedroom floor, she started to make her way towards the master bathroom, noting with some level of concern the fact that one pair of men's underwear was still lying on the floor beside the hot tub. Not wanting to touch the offending piece, she decided it would probably be best to just leave it alone until whoever it belonged to figured out it was missing of their own accord, and hopefully came to retrieve their missing garment.

Downstairs in the apartment was almost startlingly quiet compared to the party atmosphere it had held the night before. A modest, cheerful fire still crackled in the digital fireplace as Shepard made her way into the kitchen, starting up the coffee-maker and setting it to prepare a large, strong cup. The only other person who seemed to be awake at the moment appeared to be Zaeed, who sat sprawled comfortably on the couch facing the fireplace, watching the digital flames crackle with an intense look of deep, if tired, thought. It did not take long before the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee filled the kitchen, and Shepard quickly retrieved her mug from the machine, blowing on the liquid to cool it before taking a tentative sip and turning to head back into the living-room to join Zaeed in front of the fireplace.

As she passed the doorway leading from the kitchen into the barroom, however, she suddenly paused, noticing the jar of sugar crystals sitting on the edge of the bar where Miranda had left them. She hesitated, her fingers curling anxiously around the warm edge of her coffee-cup, knowing that it was completely out of character for her to even _think_ about putting additives in her coffee. It wasted time, and the coffee served its purpose to wake her up whether it tasted good or bitter. But for some reason, this morning, she could not shake the feeling that she wanted to try it. And so, stirring her newly-sweetened coffee with a neon straw from the bar, Shepard finally left the barroom, making her way back into the living-room as she had intended and dropping herself down on the couch next to Zaeed with a hefty, tired sigh.

"Where is everybody?" Shepard asked, conversationally, blowing on her cup of coffee again before taking a sip. With the added sugar, the coffee was a bit too saccharine for her taste, but she decided to ignore the sweetness as the vitalizing pick-me-up made its way down, warming her up as it went. At least now she could say she had tried it, even if she had not particularly liked it. There was always a first time for everything.

"No idea," Zaeed answered her question, truthfully. "All I really know is that Samara was gone when I woke up. I assume she must've gotten up early and left to go back to… whatever it is she does, Christ only knows. Justifer business, what have you."

"Justicar," Shepard corrected quickly.

"Don't be a goddamn know-it-all," Zaeed told her, bluntly, turning to look over at her.

"Sorry," Shepard amended, taking another sip of coffee. "How do you know Samara got up early? Maybe she left last night while the rest of us were busy doing other things."

"No, she was here last night," Zaeed told her, shaking his head.

"How do you know?" Shepard asked, looking up at him, interested.

Zaeed paused, staring at the fireplace, thoughtfully, before finally making a face and turning his mismatched gaze towards Shepard again. "Do I really have to spell it out for you, Shepard?" he asked, sounding almost pained.

"But—oh," Shepard said, feeling suddenly very stupid for not picking up on it earlier. "But I thought… I thought you said she wasn't interested in snuggling…?"

"She wasn't," Zaeed agreed, offhandedly, turning his attention to the fire again. "I never said she wasn't interested in other things, though."

"Oh," Shepard answered, awkwardly, unsure what else there was to say on the matter.

"Yeah," Zaeed agreed, just as shortly. "I noticed you and Garrus weren't exactly being subtle about your goings-on, either. But I suppose that's to be expected. It kind of turned into a free for all last night after the party died down."

"How do you mean?" Shepard asked, tentatively.

"I mean it was a bloody orgy last night, 's what I mean," Zaeed informed her, bluntly, holding up his hands as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "Couldn't take a trip to the goddamn bathroom without somebody sounding like a fucking dying animal somewhere along the way. Nightmarish, really."

"Wait a minute, wait – what?!" Shepard asked him, mortified, not really sure if she even wanted to know the answer to the question. "How many people were having sex in my house?!"

"Oh, a lot," Zaeed was quick to answer. "Yeah. A bunch of people were getting it on, all over. Uhh, there was, uh… Vega, was having sex with Williams, ehrm… Joker and his robot lady friend, they were… oh, and T'Soni, T'Soni was having sex with, um… Java, or Jervik, or… whatever his name was…"

"Javik?" Shepard asked, taken aback.

"Yeah, that's the one," Zaeed agreed, pointing at her indicatively. "Javik. They were having sex."

"Oh my god," Shepard answered, lifting a surprised hand to cover her mouth.

"Grunt fell asleep in the shower," Zaeed went on, his gaze straying thoughtfully as he pointed vaguely in the direction of the upstairs bathroom. "Uhh, Taylor I think left for the evening before things got too rowdy, but I did see a couple others who ended up staying the night… Krios slept on one of the couches, but he got up early and left before you got up… didn't drink as much as the rest of us, I guess, or the drell's got balls of fucking steel."

"What about Wrex?" Shepard asked, remembering the ruckus the krogan had been causing at the party the night before.

"Wrex stayed the night," Zaeed confirmed, nodding. "Slept on one of the couches as well… Oh, there was a three-girl pileup in one of the guest beds. Tali, Traynor, and Goto, I think. Fully clothed, if you'll imagine my disappointment." Frowning then, he turned to look at Shepard again, twisting his scarred mouth discouragedly to one side. "Why do girls do that?" he asked, frustrated. "Sleep together like that and not do anything _kinky_?"

"To disappoint guys like you, I guess," Shepard joked.

"Well, it's bloody working," Zaeed grunted, vexed. "Lawson and Jack slept in the same bed together, fully clothed as well – sleeping head to foot, if you'll imagine. Opposite ends. Not even snuggling."

"I'm not surprised," Shepard returned, shrugging.

"Cortez took a couch as well," Zaeed told her, giving a soft sigh. "Shocking how many couches you've got in this place, really. And beds. And… weird… art displays."

"To be fair, I didn't pick out the art displays," Shepard told him. "Those were here when I got here. If it were up to me, it would probably be something different."

"Life-sized posters of Blasto, perhaps?" Zaeed guessed, chuckling. "Maybe some Fornax printouts? From their swimsuit edition, naturally. Only the tasteful stuff."

"Of course," Shepard agreed, smirking. The conversation faded out again as the two lapsed into silence once more, staring at the digital fireplace as it flickered and crackled in the display. "Zaeed," Shepard suddenly spoke up again, wetting her lips anxiously as she set her coffee-mug down on the low glass-top table in front of them. "Can you keep a secret?"

"No," Zaeed answered immediately.

Shepard faltered, taken aback by the candidness of his reply, and frowned faintly as she tried to figure out if he were joking. With Zaeed's gruff, off-kilter, often dark sense of humour, she sometimes found it hard to tell when he was being serious or not. "I figure there's no point in _not_ letting you in on this," she finally said, deciding she was better off trusting him. "Especially since everyone's probably going to figure it out for themselves soon enough anyway."

"Get on with it, Shepard," Zaeed pressed, impatiently. "I'm already an old man."

"I'm pregnant," Shepard told him, completely frank.

Zaeed stared at the fireplace for a long moment, seeming almost not to have heard her at first. "I know," he finally returned, unaffected.

"No, I mean…" Shepard sighed, exasperated, letting her hands drop, open-palmed, into her lap. "I'm not kidding, Zaeed," she told him, seriously. "It's not a joke. I'm… _actually_ … I'm _honestly_ … pregnant."

Zaeed paused, taking in a deep breath, before finally nodding his grizzled head, his expression unchanging. "Yeah," he said, turning to look at her, his expression frank. "Shepard. I know."

Shepard hesitated, startled by this revelation, and for a long time she could only stare at the mercenary in shocked silence. "You _know_?" she finally asked, frowning, trying hard to keep her voice low despite her mixed confusion and frustration. "How did you know? Or, wait—how long have you known?"

"A couple weeks," Zaeed admitted, shrugging his broad, tattooed shoulders lazily. "At least. You learn these things, Shepard. You learn to – you look for the signs. They're there, even if most people can't see them." Stretching his legs out in front of him, he groaned, leaning back into the cushions of the couch as he stared at the holographic flames flickering peacefully in the digitized fireplace. "Didn't say anything about it 'cause I figured it wasn't really my goddamn business, all things considered," he added, shaking his head, offhandedly. "Guessed you probably didn't want too many people knowing about it, considering who the father likely is. Fraternization between superior officers and their lower-ranked subordinates, yadda-yadda chain of command… all that military mumbo-jumbo." Folding his hands comfortably behind his head, he let out another soft, contented grunt. "Figured it was important to you to keep it secret, so I kept it secret," he told her, honestly. "Really all there is to it."

"But then why…" Shepard's confused frown deepened as she shook her head, crossing her arms vexedly over her chest. "Why, if you were trying to keep it a secret, did you tell Verner – _Verner_ , of all people – that I was pregnant? You had to know he would go spreading that like wildfire."

"That was the plan," Zaeed answered, turning to look at her, evenly. "Start a rumour about it to cover up the fact that it's actually happening. Sort of a preemptive strike, if you will. Therein lies the genius. Plant the seed of the rumour with the least reliable person in the entire galaxy, and watch as he tries to spread it." Jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the upstairs bedrooms, where they could still hear Wrex snoring loudly, he smirked, self-satisfied. "You saw what sort of reaction hearing it from Verner garnered from Wrex and them," he told her. "People know you, Shepard. They know you're not about to go spreading your legs for some boot-licking Cerberus dropout. So, naturally, when they hear from someone known for his exaggeration and hero-worship fanaticism that you're expecting his forbidden love child, they're going to toss that idea away faster than a third-generation Fornax mag."

"That's…" Shepard faltered, her expression slowly beginning to clear, before looking up at Zaeed again, a small, impressed smile beginning to move across her lips. "That's actually really smart."

"Don't sound so surprised, now," Zaeed scolded, chuckling as he arched one scarred brow at her, returning his hand to behind his head. "You underestimate this old dog, Shepard. He's still got a few tricks up his sleeves." Another long silence followed this, in which Shepard and Zaeed both stared at the digital fireplace. It had been much easier than she had expected to tell him her secret – in fact, with the exception of Garrus, every person she had told thus far had felt almost like telling a member of her family. She had expected panic, harsh judgement, and for people to try to distance themselves from her, not wanting to be caught up in the freakshow of her predicament. Instead, thus far, with almost every person she had let in on her situation, she had been met with nothing but offers of assistance and an unspoken understanding that when she told the world – _if_ she told the world – it would be her choice to do so, and hers, alone.

Even Miranda, who made no secret of the fact that the whole situation unsettled her, had only expressed concern for Shepard in her own, particular way. Shepard knew the predicament was harder for her than most, considering her own inability to bear children, but, despite this, and despite her own feelings on the matter, she had freely provided Shepard with resources in order to allow her the chance to decide what _she_ wanted to do with the life she held.

"So when are you planning on telling him?" Zaeed asked, turning his head to look over at her again.

At this, Shepard frowned, staring intently down at her knees. "I was _going_ to tell him last night," she admitted, stuffing her hands self-consciously into the pockets of her hoodie and letting them curl gently around the base of her baby bump. "I had hoped the alcohol would make the news easier to swallow. Which is completely cowardly of me, I admit, but…" She paused, screwing up her face, anxious. "I've never really been good at delivering bad news," she said, honestly. "Either everyone gets really upset with me – but, hey, don't kill the messenger, you know? – or, nobody believes me… or people get really overly emotional, and I don't have any idea how to deal with…" Pulling her hands from her pockets, she made a fruitless, indicative gesture, before finally giving up and allowing her hands to return to her lap. " _That_ ," she said, frustrated.

"So you lost your nerve," Zaeed said, giving a short, dismissive grunt. "It happens to the best of us."

"I know, but… I can't keep hiding it, Zaeed," Shepard told him, turning to look at him, worriedly. "One of these days he's going to figure it out. He's not stupid, he's… he's really smart."

At this, Zaeed snorted, loudly, before clearing his throat and turning his attention quickly back to the fireplace. "Yeah," he agreed, coughing pointedly. "Right. Okay."

"Stop that," Shepard scolded, giving a soft, worried breath of a laugh. "He's _not_ stupid. He just doesn't know that it's even _possible_ for us to have…" Making a face, she held out a hand, indicative, trying to think of how to word her statement, before finally letting it drop back again with a heavy, frustrated sigh. "We don't… _work_ … that way," she finally said, awkwardly. "He and I… we _can't_ have a baby together. Or, we shouldn't. We shouldn't be having a baby together. But… here we are. And I don't know how to explain that to him without sounding totally and completely insane."

"Well, it shouldn't be _that_ hard," Zaeed reasoned, holding out a hand, helpfully. "I saw you two talking last night, flirting and what have you. Seemed to be having a good enough time. I'm sure he'll come around eventually if you just tell him about it. He's a good guy." He paused, folding his arm back again, before giving another short shrug. "A bit on the slow side," he added. "A touch stubborn. But I can see why you keep him around."

"He says he wants kids," Shepard said, looking up at him, optimistically. "Once this war is over."

"Lucky him," Zaeed returned, bluntly.

"Did you get a chance to talk to him at all last night?" Shepard asked, hopefully. "Maybe get a feel for how he's doing? He doesn't like to worry me about personal things, but I was hoping maybe he'd be willing to talk more freely about it to a friend—"

"Who, me?" Zaeed asked, looking over at her, surprised. "Nah, I don't talk to Vega that much. I think he's a bit intimidated by me, truth be told. Seems like a good enough kid, though." Taking in a deep, sharp breath through his nose, he cleared his throat, fixing his attention on the digital fireplace. "I should probably get on that," he added, thoughtfully. "Seeing as he's about to be the Commander's baby daddy and all."

"Vega?" Shepard repeated, surprised. She paused a moment, thinking this over, before finally nodding and looking away again. "Yeah," she agreed, deciding it was not worth pursuing. "Vega's a pretty good kid." They stared at the fire in silence for a while, the muffled rustling of sheets and squeaking of springs reaching their ears as a few other overnight guests began to slowly wake up. Sliding her foot over towards Zaeed, Shepard kicked the mercenary lightly in the shin, barely tapping his armour but still managing to get his attention. "Hey," she told him. "You're still gonna stick around after I have this kid, right? Be Great Uncle Zaeed, on call for babysitting duty?"

"Of course," Zaeed answered assuredly, giving a gruff, agreeable chuckle. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

"I'm serious, Zaeed," Shepard returned. "If I do keep this baby, I won't be able to do this stuff on my own."

"Who's joking?" Zaeed informed her, turning his mismatched gaze over to her. "Not me. I love babies. Though, perhaps lighten up on the _Great_ stuff. Maybe just _Uncle Zaeed_ for the time being. I'm not _that_ old just yet."

"Zaeed…" Shepard started to say.

"What?" Zaeed insisted, half-affronted but still smiling. "You think a grizzled old geezer like me's too tough and scary to like things like that? Liking babies is too 'girly', or what have you?" Letting out an incredulous grunt, he waved a dismissive hand in her direction, turning his attention back to the fireplace. "Don't be so shallow," he told her, shaking his head. "Little tiny hands and feet – who doesn't love that? Precious. Goddamn precious."

"I just… never really thought about you as a baby person, I guess," Shepard admitted, now a little sheepish that she had been so quick to judge him. Looking down at her boots again, she was quiet for a moment, listening to the sound of the digital fireplace crackling. Then, suddenly realizing something, she looked up at Zaeed again, her brow furrowing in a faint, confused line. "Wait a minute," she said, causing him to look up at her again, attentive. "Cuteness of babies aside, how _do_ you know what signs to look for? Is there something I don't know about you, Zaeed?"

Zaeed paused, playing with his scarred lips, before finally giving a soft, thoughtful snort. "Well, there's a lot you don't know about me, Shepard," he admitted, offhanded. "But this one's not really that big a secret. I've got a little girl back on Triton. Beautiful little thing, gorgeous blue eyes. Looks just like her mother." He hesitated then, considering this, before looking away and frowning a bit, his mouth drawing into a firm, meditative line. "Haven't seen her in years, to be honest," he added, shaking his head. "She's probably grown like a weed by now."

Shepard stared at him for a moment, raising her brows, curious. "How come you've never told me about her before?" she finally asked.

Zaeed shrugged, indifferent. "Didn't seem important," he answered, frankly. "Wasn't ever a decent point in conversation for it to come up. People don't generally go around talking about their kids without having a reason to. Or if they do it's bloody annoying, and… well, I didn't want to be That Person."

"What's her name?" Shepard asked, intrigued.

"Zelda," Zaeed answered simply, looking over at her again, this time raising his scarred brows. "Yeah. Zed for short."

"Zed," Shepard repeated, surprised, smiling for what felt like the first time in a long while.

"Yeah," Zaeed replied, offering her a soft, knowing half-smirk in return. "Now you know where it comes from." Turning his gaze towards the fireplace again, he stared at the digital flames for a long moment, seemingly deep in thought, before lacing his tattooed fingers lazily across his abdomen and taking in a deep, meditative breath. "I really hope the baby ends up looking like you," he told her, causing her to look up at him again, surprised. "Because his father is one ugly son of a bitch."

Shepard hesitated, taken aback by this odd, seemingly random observation, before realizing that, coming from Zaeed, this unusual statement was likely intended as a compliment. In truth, it was the closest Zaeed had ever come to telling her – in his own gruff, roundabout way – that he thought she was attractive, and she knew it would probably be the closest she would ever come to hearing it from him again. "Thanks, Zaeed," she told him, offering him an amused, understanding smile. "That's really nice of you to say."

"Anytime, Shepard," Zaeed assured her. "Anytime."


	22. WEEK FOURTEEN, Pt.1

It took nearly the entire rest of the morning for the last straggling party-goers to finally wake up and collect enough of their wits to begin shaking off the events of the night previous. Shepard and Zaeed had started taking bets on who would be the next to wake up, but by mid-morning the game had gone so slowly that they had all but given up keeping count of who was ahead. Vega had been one of the first to wake up after Shepard, and, despite having drunk just as much as the rest of them the night previous, his explicably chipper attitude threatened to give even the Commander a headache as he buzzed animatedly around the commune, offering to fry up some of his signature scrambled eggs. Ashley was the next to come down, though she seemed much less enthused to be awake as she made her way down the stairs wearing one of Kahlee's plush white bathrobes. Dropping herself next to Shepard on the couch, she gave a hefty sigh, stretching her long, tan legs out in front of her and leaning her head back against the cushions as she let out a low, soft groan.

Shepard reached over, patting her shoulder reassuringly as she tried hard to hold in a sympathetic little chuckle. "You'll live, L.T.," she told her, before turning her attention back to the staircase just in time to watch as a sad, slowly ambling procession of half-awake, hungover houseguests began to make their way down, one at a time. Each guest rubbed their eyes and groaned as the smell of fresh breakfast wafted up through the house, rousing them from a hazy sleep and tempting them all downstairs. Just as Vega had promised, the eggs were prepared with the speed of a madman, and before long everyone found themselves sitting in front of a freshly-cooked platter of scrambled eggs, with the exception ofTali and Garrus, who had opted to wait until they had a chance to explore the Strip to find something suitable for their dextro-specific breakfast. While everyone else was eating breakfast, Garrus had wandered over to where Shepard sat on the couch, hoping to find a place beside her to sit, but, seeing that she was bookended on both sides already, he had turned away again, instead making his way over to Tali to converse with her about something Shepard could not hear.

Once breakfast was eaten and the plates were haphazardly stacked in the sink, the group had decided it was high time to explore the sights of the SilverSun Strip while their shore leave still held. As if of a single mind, they began to quickly make their way towards the door of the apartment, chattering amongst themselves as they tried to recall what had happened the night previous. Just as she was about to cross the threshold, herself, Shepard suddenly heard a sharp pinging sound coming from the study of the apartment, and, stepping to one side to allow the rest of the party to continue out the door without her, she waited until everyone had left before closing the apartment door and turning her attention towards the source of the unusual sound. She followed the sound until she came to where the pinging was the loudest, and when she got there, she was intrigued to see a bright, pulsating spot of light flashing out at her from the screen of Anderson's study computer. Coming closer, she reached out a curious hand, tapping the light, only to find that doing so caused it to lead directly to her e-mail access, much to her surprise.

She figured Anderson must have gone ahead and synced her information to the apartment the day before, but the thought was quickly pushed from her mind as she tapped the bolded title at the top of her inbox, opening the e-mail up and reading the message inside. The 'Urgent Message from General Hackett', as it was titled, contained a short notification informing her that the Normandy was nearly finished with its standard repairs, and a rather abrupt follow-up instruction for her to meet with someone named Doctor Garrett Bryson while she was still there on the Citadel. Doctor Bryson, the message said, had uncovered some important new information concerning the Reapers, and Shepard was to meet him at his lab to talk with him about it. Shepard frowned, tapping the side of the message where the scroll bar would normally be to see if there was some additional information, but, finding nothing else, she instead closed the message out, frustrated.

One evening of downtime was hardly enough to constitute a fully-appreciated shore leave, especially considering Shepard had not managed to do the one thing she had been determined to do while they were still on leave from the Normandy. Still, she figured any information pertinent to their fight against the Reapers was more important than any personal schedule, no matter how pressing, and so, turning away from the computer console, she set to looking for her omni-tool sensor and in-ear comm, finally locating them on the nightstand beside the bed where she and Garrus had spent the previous night. Slipping the sensor on over the back of her hand and the comm over the curve of her ear, she headed out the door of the apartment complex, and, once outside, she looked around for the nearest taxi terminal, quickly finding one within walking distance and heading over towards it. Shepard glanced warily over her shoulder as she summoned her ride, hoping that none of her crewmates were around to see her and possibly think she was intentionally trying to avoid spending time with them. The last thing she needed was more ill will among her crew when so many of them were already convinced she was acting strangely, or were holding onto a secret that could effectively end her current military career.

Shepard let out an audible sigh of relief as her taxi came streaming into view, settling down in front of her and popping open its lid with a hiss to allow her to get in. She wasted no time in slipping into the vehicle and closing the door behind her, quickly hiding herself from view, before accessing the navigation console and hesitating, her hand lingering above the numeral screen as she considered whether to punch the address she had been provided into the autopilot or not. Autopilot had never failed her before, but she still had an irrational distaste for it that had gotten her into much more trouble than honestly necessary, especially back in the day when Mako driving was the standard form of planetside transportation. The Mako had been inexplicably retired as the customary Alliance land travel vehicle the year after she became Commander of the Normandy, and the year after that, the Hammerhead was quick to meet the same untimely fate. This go-'round, she had been given a designated pilot, Cortez, to bring her and her crew down to the surface of the planets when necessary, but she still had to wonder why no one had ever seen fit to give her a sufficient reason as to why the other two vehicles had been retired. She could also not help but notice the sideways looks her crew always gave one another whenever she brought up the good old days of planetside travel, and she had to wonder if they somehow knew something she did not.

Typing the address for Bryson's lab into the navigation console, she allowed the autopilot a moment to think before the engines of the taxi blazed to life again and the car lifted off from the docking terminal. Turning slowly towards the outer city, the taxi hovered in the air a moment, calculating, before finally speeding off in what Shepard only hoped was the right direction. Of all the times for autopilot to inexplicably fail on her, she figured, now would probably be one of the worst.

* * *

The Citadel taxi whined loudly as it settled down outside of Doctor Bryson's laboratory, coming to a full, hovering stop before the lid popped open with a hiss to allow Shepard to get out. Pushing herself out of the vehicle, Shepard stared up at the building in front of her, curiously taking it in as she ran her hand along the sleek metal façade of the car, wordlessly prompting it to stay. Satisfied that she was in the right place, she started towards the door of the laboratory, passing her omni-tool sensor over the orange lock display and waiting a moment as it registered her, before finally sliding open to allow her to enter. The lab was enormous on the inside, much larger than it appeared from the outside, thanks in part to what seemed to be a sunken floor. The echoing sound of her footsteps warped eerily against the metallic walls as she descended the short throng of steps into the entryroom, her footfalls sounding more like two polished rocks vibrating together than the sound of boots on metal.

The laboratory appeared at first to be empty, and Shepard could not help but wonder if she had perhaps come at a bad time for the doctor. Suddenly, the low sound of voices reached her ears, and she turned, tucking her hands carefully into the pockets of her hoodie as she followed the source of the noise into the adjoining research room. A giant, glowing statue stood in the entryway of this room, its massive structure supported by a sturdy, three-legged ballast and ringed by a protective railing all the way around. Shepard stared at the structure for a moment, intrigued, before the sound of voices caught her attention again, and she turned her head, finally spotting where the voices were coming from. Doctor Bryson stood with his back to her, poring closely over a large blue screen filled with tiny white boxes of even tinier text. From where she stood, Shepard could barely make out any of the words on the screen, but as she got closer, she could see that each box contained a name, though none of them recognizable.

Doctor Bryson did not even seem to notice Shepard as she approached, seeming entirely engrossed in his research, only pausing from his work every so often to turn and speak to a third person also standing in the room with them. Bryson was a thin man, with a skeletal, almost languished look to him that paid testament to too many hours spent toiling in the lab and too few dedicated to proper eating and sleeping habits. His head was overlarge, almost puppet-like above his bony, weathered shoulders, his large, watery blue eyes pinched with crow's feet and circled with red and blue bags. His hard, steel-grey brows creased in what appeared to be a permanent frown as he turned his attention towards the only other person in the lab, a thirtysomething dark-haired lab assistant who also appeared too engrossed in his work to even notice someone new had entered their scientific domicile. "I want you to match this against all known locations and update the map," Bryson informed his assistant, intently. "Then contact the field teams for a progress report."

"Yes, sir," the assistant agreed, nodding his head, not even bothering to look up from his work as he did so. Dark circles had formed under the younger man's eyes, likely from many sleepless nights spent up in the research lab, hunched over his tiny, flickering computer console as he was doing now. Despite his uncomfortable stature, however, he did not seem to mind the work – if anything, he seemed completely absorbed in it, typing information into his holographic keypad faster than Shepard could even keep up.

Turning away from the broad data screen, Bryson looked up at Shepard, seeming surprised at the sight of a visitor, but he quickly regained his composure, offering her an agreeable, welcoming nod. "Ah, Commander Shepard," he greeted her, politely. "We've been expecting you. Just a moment." Turning away from her again, he pressed his datapad against his chest, craning his neck as he looked over towards his assistant, making sure the younger man was paying attention to what he was saying. "And Hadley?" he called. "Could you gather the Leviathan data for us?" Then, turning his attention towards Shepard again, he quickly brushed past her, indicating for her to follow him as he made his way through the long arm of the lab, leading her into the wide next room to show her more of his research. "Apologies, Commander," he told her, tersely, turning to face her again. "The rest of my team is out investigating leads right now. I'm Doctor Garrett Bryson, and this… is Taskforce Aurora."

Holding out a hand, he offered a sweeping gesture across a large galaxy map similar to the one Shepard used in the command centre of the Normandy, allowing her to approach and examine it as she pleased. The Milky Way galaxy swirled slowly across the centre of the hologram, peppered with stars and labelled systems, but as Shepard looked around at the rest of the room, she noticed that the galaxy map was far from the only thing in there. The walls were papered with photographs, sketches, cutouts from archaic newsprint, all with varying numbers of hand-written notes and addendums tacked onto them with wall adhesive. Red twine had been strung between some of the articles and photographs, held in place with astutely-placed thumbtacks, connecting the dots to a puzzle Shepard could not for the life of her figure out. "What's your assignment?" she asked, leaning in closer to examine one of the pieces of paper on the wall that appeared to have been clipped out of an old paper textbook, showing a blurry photograph of a half-submerged, long-necked aquatic creature.

"Our mandate is to investigate legends, rumours… old stories about the Reapers before anyone knew they existed," Bryson answered, evenly, moving to stand over by the galaxy map, watching as Shepard examined a few more pictures on the wall before turning to look back at him once more. Shepard frowned, a bit confused, before taking a few steps forward towards the galaxy map as well, offering Bryson her undivided attention.

"That's an interesting goal," she conceded, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of her lip as she spoke. "But is anyone doubting the Reapers exist these days?"

"The Alliance is still desperate for intelligence," Bryson informed her, gravely, folding his skeletal arms. "Reaper motives, their operational tactics… anything that can give us an edge."

"And how did you wind up in charge?" Shepard asked, glancing towards the galaxy map again, curious, before returning her attention to Bryson once more.

"When the rest of the galaxy says something doesn't exist, I take that as a chance to prove that it does," Bryson told her, matter-of-factly.

"So you're in it for the challenge," Shepard deduced, folding her arms across her chest as well, not entirely thrilled with what she was hearing from Bryson so far.

"For the truth," Bryson corrected her, resolutely, unfolding his arms to let them fall back to his sides again. Turning away from her, he moved over towards the wall of articles, looking over them, almost longingly. "Even as late as 2148, humanity still thought aliens were a myth," he told her, shaking his head, before turning to look back at her again, his weathered expression grim. "That was within my lifetime. Once that myth was proven to be a reality, our entire history changed."

"Reapers were part of that reality, too," Shepard added, taking a few steps forward towards him, her eyes making a quick pass over the topmost row of pictures and noting a familiar face standing out among them, that of Saren Arterius.

"But even they have a history, Commander," Bryson returned, intently, holding out his hands persuasively in front of him as he turned away from the wall again, starting to move back towards the galaxy map. "If we could just uncover it, there may be a weakness we could exploit."

"I could've used your help three years ago," Shepard told him, trying for a bit of dark humour.

"Yes…" Bryson agreed, disappointedly, not seeming quite as amused by the observation. Handing over the datapad he had taken with him from the first room of the lab to Shepard, he watched as she began to examine it, interestedly, his sharp blue eyes never leaving her face as she perused through the available data. "If more people had paid attention to your Prothean beacon, we might not be in this war," he finally added, turning his attention away from Shepard and towards the vast galaxy map, starting to type something into the command console. "But now, with new information we've recovered, a breakthrough is near…" Bryson trailed off, the sound of approaching footsteps causing him to look up momentarily from his work, only to turn his attention back again when he saw that it was only Hadley coming in to report something. "Hadley, do you have the data?" Bryson asked, his gaze fixed sternly on the galaxy map controls.

"No," Hadley answered, his voice sounding almost manic, causing Bryson to look up at him again, confused. His confusion quickly turned to panic, however, as he watched Hadley draw a weapon from the belt of his lab tunic, barely taking a moment to aim before firing once at Bryson, knocking the old man off his feet. Shepard had no time to react before the gun was on her as well, and so, thinking quickly, she threw the datapad she had been given into the young lab assistant's face, tackling him to the ground before he had time to recover. The gun Hadley had been holding skittered away across the laboratory floor as Shepard pinned him to the ground with one knee, using one free hand to hold his gun arm down while the other reached up to activate her in-ear comm.

"This is Commander Shepard," she reported, out of breath. "I need C-Sec at my location, _now_!"

"You shouldn't be here," Hadley told her, his voice flat and emotionless as he sat perfectly, eerily still under Shepard's pinning weight, moving only his head as he turned his gaze up towards the ceiling, unblinking. "The darkness cannot be breached…"

Shepard's frown deepened, disturbed, as she turned to look over her shoulder towards Bryson. He had not moved since being shot, but she knew she could not risk letting Hadley go to check if the doctor still had a pulse. Bringing her fingers up to her in-ear comm again, she switched channels, this time tapping into EDI's direct communication line. "EDI, I need you to meet me at Bryson's lab here on the Citadel," she told the AI. "You can track my location through this signal. Don't tell the others where I am, though, if you can manage. I don't need them to worry any more than necessary." Then, shutting off the comm link again, she sighed, heavily, turning her attention towards the galaxy map, still awaiting the rest of the command Bryson had been putting into it. Whatever he was about to show her was lost to the cosmos now, it seemed.

"Damn," she whispered, defeated.

* * *

Shepard paced in front of Hadley, watching him intently, but he had not stopped staring at the floor since the two C-Sec officers had arrived and coaxed him into a sitting position on one of the laboratory's chairs. His hands were folded conscientiously in front of him, his haggard face set in an expression of confusion and guilt as he waited with slouched, exhausted shoulders for his interrogation to be over. "Transit records show his name is Derek Hadley," one of the C-Sec officers reported, crossing his arms as he stared down at the mournful-looking human, as if expecting him to react somehow. "He's worked here for a couple months. More than that… we couldn't really say."

"Shepard," EDI reported, causing Shepard to turn, offering her her full attention. "I received your transmission from this location. Were you harmed in any way?"

"I'm fine," Shepard informed her, shaking her head. "But I could use your help sorting this out. Take a look through their files. I need to know what this task force was up to."

"At once," EDI agreed, giving an understanding nod of her head before moving past Shepard to begin her assigned task. Turning her attention back towards Hadley, Shepard crossed her arms again, observing him as his head rolled tiredly from one side of his neck to the other, before he suddenly seemed to become aware of his surroundings and looked up, his dark-ringed eyes wide with fear.

"Wh… I…" Hadley stammered, looking between Shepard and the two C-Sec officers, before his gaze finally came to rest on Shepard, deciding she was likely the best authority. "What's… happening…?"

"You tell me," Shepard informed him, coldly.

"I… I was gathering our data when you arrived," Hadley answered, uncertain, his jaw seeming almost slack as he tried hard to remember the most recent events. "And then… it was… dark…" He stopped here, his words seeming almost to freeze in his throat, before closing his tired eyes, squeezing them shut, almost as if trying to block something unpleasant out. "Cold… like I was… someplace else…"

"And then?" Shepard asked, bluntly, unmoved by his show of theatrics.

At this, Hadley suddenly looked up at her again, his eyes wide, almost panicked. "I don't know!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking with exertion. "A… gun was in my hand…! Doctor Bryson… there was… a loud noise…"

"That was you shooting him," Shepard informed him, pointing over his shoulder towards where Bryson still lay on the floor, covered with a reverent white sheet, though the blood from his fatal wound had soaked through the thin material, turning it a sickly shade of red. Seeing this, Hadley immediately sprang to his feet, crossing to where his mentor lay and dropping to his knees beside him. He reached forward, his hand hovering near the edge of the sheet, trying to convince himself to lift it, but then, unable to do it, he merely dropped his face into his hands instead, beginning to cry bitterly. The C-Sec officers were quick to react, crossing over to where he knelt and dragging him back to his feet, before pulling him back over to where he had been sitting before and forcing him down into the chair again.

"I didn't do it!" Hadley insisted, trying hard to speak through his onslaught of terrified tears. "It wasn't me! You have to believe that!"

"So someone else pulled that trigger?" Shepard returned, unmoved.

"But I would never do that!" Hadley exclaimed, bringing his hands to his face again.

"Commander, this does resemble reports of indoctrination," EDI put in, causing Shepard to look her way.

"Indoctrination?" Hadley asked, pulling Shepard's attention back to him again. "…Me?"

"What about that Leviathan Bryson mentioned?" Shepard asked Hadley, intently, frowning a bit at the suggestion. "How does that tie in?"

"It's… some kind of creature," Hadley told her, sniffling as he wiped the tears away from his eyes, his voice beginning to level out again as he returned to a topic he was more familiar with. "Our field teams have been tracking it." Turning then, he pointed back towards a large, orb-like object that sat in the room beyond, mere feet from where Bryson's body still lay on the floor. The orb, or whatever it was, sat on top of a large, obelisk-like base, covered by a thick shield of bulletproof glass. "That artefact came in from our researcher, Garneau," Hadley informed her, pragmatically. "He also sent an audio log if you… wanna…" Suddenly, he stopped, his voice trailing off again as the look of helpfulness dropped instantaneously from his face, replaced first with a blank, lifeless expression, and then a look of sheer agony as he let out a yell, gripping his face between his hands and ducking his head down painfully between his knees.

"What's wrong?" Shepard insisted, taking a startled step backwards.

Sliding off the chair where he had been sitting, Hadley dropped to his knees, his head lolling forward lifelessly on his neck as his entire body went limp and submissive. "Turn back," the lab tech insisted, his voice that same deep, dark, lifeless tone he had used with her once before.

Shepard frowned, glancing over her shoulder to make sure her path to the exit of the lab was clear, before turning her attention back to Hadley, concerned. "What are you talking about?" she asked, making sure to keep her voice low and calm, so as not to rile him up more than absolutely necessary.

"The darkness cannot be breached," Hadley repeated, firmer this time. Then, his eyes rolling back into his head, he collapsed, his body going limp as he toppled to one side, out like a light.

"Damnit," Shepard swore, frustrated, turning her attention to the two C-Sec officers, neither of whom seemed to know what to do now. Nothing like this had ever happened on either of their patrols before, and they apparently had no idea how to deal with it now that it had. "Get him over to the clinic," Shepard instructed, jerking her thumb indicatively over her shoulder towards the exit of the lab. "See if they can tell us what's wrong with him."

"Yes, ma'am," the first officer agreed, signalling to the second and attempting to drag Hadley to his feet, to little avail. Realizing they would have to carry him, they each took one of his arms, lugging him precariously towards the door of the lab as Shepard turned her attention instead to where EDI now stood, perusing interestedly through a holographic computer log of data files.

"Commander," EDI addressed her, motioning for Shepard to come closer. "You'll want to see this. It's an outgoing message from Doctor Bryson to Admiral Hackett." Intrigued, Shepard quickly made her way over to where EDI stood, moving up behind her and watching her work from over her shoulder. Pushing a button, EDI turned her attention back up to the screen as well, both women watching as an image of Bryson approached the screen, turning his intense, watery eyes up towards the camera.

"Doctor Bryson," Hackett's stern, familiar voice crackled through. "You have an update?"

"Admiral," Bryson returned, dutifully. "The Leviathan of Dis that we've been investigating…" He paused, glancing anxiously over his shoulder, as if expecting someone else to be listening in on their conversation. Then, turning his attention back to Hackett, he leaned in closer towards the vidcomm before adding, in a much lower voice, "I think we're really onto something."

"Give me the brief," Hackett insisted, his tone dark and solemn.

"About twenty years ago, the batarians discovered a Reaper corpse that had died in battle," Bryson informed Hackett, standing as close as he could to the screen, his face almost pressed up against it. "They covered it up and denied it ever existed… but I'm intrigued by the larger implication."

"What could have killed a Reaper in the first place," Hackett returned, intrigued.

"Exactly," Bryson agreed, intently. "That's the real Leviathan."

"It's worth pursuing," Hackett's voice conceded. "Continue your investigation and update me on the progress."

The message cut out almost immediately after that, and Shepard turned her attention to EDI, who had begun typing something else into the console, quickly pulling up a second vidcomm file. "There is also a follow-up message from a few weeks later," she informed Shepard, dutifully, before pushing the same button and setting the second file in motion. This time, Bryson paced anxiously in front of the vidcomm station, the dark circles under his eyes seeming even more pronounced as he kept throwing troubled glances towards the screen, as if expecting some sort of reassurance but ultimately finding none.

"Admiral, the Reapers are shadowing my field teams as if they're hunting Leviathan, themselves," he reported, on edge, sounding clipped and out of breath. "Whatever it is, I believe Leviathan is nothing less than a _Reaper killer_. Almost an apex predator. And it has them nervous. If we could just find it, imagine the impact on the war…!" Coming to a stop in his pacing, he turned his attention towards Hackett, standing perfectly still as he tucked his thin hands dutifully behind his back, looking up at the vidcomm screen. "I'm formally requesting assistance in tracking it down," he reported, sounding equal parts zealous and tense.

"You'll have it," Hackett confirmed, as if he had already made up his mind long ago. "This is now your top priority, Doctor. Find that thing." And with that, the current recording cut out just as suddenly as the last.

"It seems we were meant to be that assistance," EDI reported, turning her attention towards Shepard, who nodded, understanding.

"Anything capable of killing a Reaper could do a lot of collateral damage," Shepard observed, her gaze still fixed on the screen, though there was nothing there to see.

"Yet, given the state of this conflict, I believe the saying, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend', may be relevant," EDI returned, astutely.

"Winston Churchill?" Shepard guessed, turning to look at the robot.

"Close," EDI conceded. "It is from an ancient Sanskrit treatise from the fourth century, B.C."

Shepard faltered, taken aback by this information. "How is that close?" she asked, frowning, confused.

"It is not," EDI returned, fairly. "I merely did not wish to make you feel badly. It seems my attempts have failed."

"I appreciate the sentiment, anyway," Shepard told her, trying hard not to sound too embarrassed. "But, either way, we won't know anything about Leviathan at all unless we can find it."

"Bryson's assistant did say they recently received a log from their field researcher," EDI reminded her, helpfully, turning to look at the datapad Shepard had used to defend herself from Hadley, which still lay on the floor where it had been thrown. "It may yield more information than we currently have."

Moving over to where the datapad had been discarded, Shepard let out a soft, frustrated grunt of effort as she bent down, picking it up off the floor, before straightening again and pressing a hand against her protesting back. Letting out a huff of breath, she turned her attention instead towards the cryptically encased orb sitting in the far corner of the research room. "This is the artefact the assistant mentioned," she commented, interestedly, moving over to observe it. As she stared at it, the artefact seemed to glimmer enticingly, almost like a tiny aurora borealis trapped within the confines of the sphere. "And here's the log," she added, bringing up the datapad and accessing one of the first files to pop up in the history, clearly marked 'Garneau'.

"Doctor Bryson," Garneau's voice spoke clearly from the datapad, sounding young, chipper, and healthy, much different from the way the assistant Hadley had sounded. "It's Garneau. I'm sending you an artefact I found. Well, the only thing I found there, in fact. Maybe it's nothing, but… I'd swear Leviathan came through here." At this, Shepard frowned, turning her attention towards the artefact again, which glimmered innocently from within its glass confines. "I'm gonna crunch some numbers, burn off the rest of this project travel allowance," Garneau went on. "Maybe I can project our Reaper killer's movements. I'll check in when I get to the next site." The message ended abruptly, and Shepard closed out the audio log, setting the datapad aside as she turned her attention towards EDI again, intrigued.

"Garneau appears to be our best lead to track Leviathan," EDI observed, incisively. "But he does not state a destination."

"Let's focus on what he does say, then," Shepard reasoned.

"He mentioned extrapolating Leviathan's path," EDI suggested, indicating towards the galaxy map.

"And crunching numbers," Shepard added, observantly. "He wasn't flying blind. He had data."

"A significant amount of data," EDI agreed. "Judging by this office."

"So how do we narrow it down?" Shepard asked.

"Bryson and his colleagues evidently used a galaxy map search program in their hunt for Leviathan," EDI informed her, turning and making her way to the slowly-swirling galaxy map in the centre of the room with Shepard following dutifully in her wake. "It may help us locate Garneau… if we can find the relevant data to narrow down our search."

At this, Shepard let out a long, tired breath, turning and looking around at the cluttered, multi-level, artefact-filled laboratory. "Well, EDI," she commented, dryly. "I hope you didn't make any plans today. 'Cause it looks like we're in for a long search."

* * *

The Kodiak rattled noisily as it made its descent towards the colonized asteroid of Mahavid, the tiny floating rocks and debris that surrounded the asteroid pinging off the hull every so often and sounding almost like rain as they neared their destination. It had taken just as long as Shepard had anticipated to find the information on Garneau in Bryson's lab, but it had been worth it, as, with EDI's help, they had managed to narrow the research assistant's location to within an unmistakeable distance. Her crew had not been thrilled with the news that their shore leave was being cut short, but they had come along with Shepard with little complaint, regardless. A few of them seemed almost relieved to be back on duty, as most of them had spent so long in the Alliance that they felt out of place without orders to carry out or a gun in their hands. Shepard could sympathise with this sentiment, and, even as she readjusted the belt of pouches around her waist for what felt like the thousandth time, she could not help but feel much more at home in her suit of armour than she had in her casual clothes.

"We're about five minutes out, Commander," Cortez informed her, turning to look back at her and instantly causing her to stop with her fiddling. Shepard nodded, taking an absorbed step forward to hover eagerly over the pilot's shoulder, watching unflinchingly as he manoeuvred through the minefield of rubble and space debris towards their current destination. Cortez was the best of the best, and if he was not worried about their course, she figured she had no reason to worry, either.

"What exactly is on this asteroid?" Shepard asked, interested, leaning a hand attentively against the back of his piloting chair.

"Mining facility," Cortez answered, matter-of-factly. "TGS Mineral Works. Small operation. Could be a good place for Leviathan to hide."

Shepard nodded again, switching the hand she was using to steady herself with the shuttle's overhead handlebar as she turned her attention back towards her selected ground crew. "We've all read EDI's notes on Bryson's lab," she told them, causing them to look up at her, attentive. "Any questions?"

"Is there a clearer idea of what this 'Leviathan' was?" Garrus asked her, sceptically.

Shepard shook her head. "Not really," she told him, truthfully. "We only know it killed a Reaper."

"And we're looking for Doctor Bryson's research partner, Garneau," Liara put in, causing both Shepard and Garrus to look her way.

"Right," Shepard confirmed. "We find Garneau, we find Leviathan."

"We hope," Liara added, uncertainly.

Ignoring her comment, Shepard turned her attention back towards Cortez, peering over his shoulder at the radar screen built into the Kodiak's steering console. "The doctor was right," she told him, letting out a soft, intent sigh. "Anything powerful enough to kill a Reaper needs to be investigated. Just hope Garneau has the answers we need."

"I'm reading Reaper enemy signatures in the asteroid field," Cortez informed her, warily, glancing quickly over his shoulder before returning his eyes to the path ahead.

"Bryson said they were shadowing his field teams," Shepard reported, affirmative. "If they're after Leviathan, too, Reapers are a good sign."

"That's not something you hear every day," Cortez put in, giving a low, nervous chuckle at the irony.

Shepard smirked, amused by the observation. "Take us in," she instructed, resolutely, before turning back towards her landing crew to prepare them for heading in.

* * *

Shepard's plan for Mahavid had been simple: she, Garrus, and Liara would make their way into the mining camp, grab Garneau, and be right back out again within five minutes, while Cortez stayed behind with the Kodiak and kept a watchful eye out for Reapers. It was a basic, straightforward strategy, nearly perfect in its simplicity, but, as with most things, nothing ever seemed to go according to plan when Shepard was involved. It did not take long for the ground team to fight their way through the wave of husks that attacked them almost as soon as their feet touched the ground, and before much longer they had made their way to the mining facility where Garneau's signal was the strongest. Despite being well tucked away underground, the facility had been simple enough to find with the help of EDI's tracking tech, and, with a bit of shamefully easy hacking, Shepard had hastily managed to trick her way past the orange-locked door, allowing her team inside the facility before the heavy doors closed and locked behind them again, shutting the husks out of the camp and rendering them safe, for the time being.

With the danger having passed, Shepard holstered her weapon, not wanting to appear hostile to the peaceful architectural mining team. She figured it would already be enough of a shock to have unexpected visitors dropping in on them without the extra added panic of unholstered weapons. Garrus and Liara were quick to do the same, and, now fully presentable, the party made their way into the lobby of the facility, where a smooth overhead voice chimed a genial message greeting the new visitors entering the complex as they passed through the open doorway, setting off the motion sensor. "Welcome to TGS Mineral Works," the upbeat, automated male's voice hailed them, causing Shepard to look up towards the overhead speakers. "All guests need to sign in at reception." Coming to a standstill in the middle of the facility lobby, Shepard paused, frowning around at the unnerving picture spread out before her. Safety of the facility aside, something did not feel right about the general atmosphere of almost eerie calm. Despite the automated greeting informing them that someone new had entered their facility – three someones, in fact – not one of the mining employees even seemed to notice the group of strangers now standing confusedly in the middle of their floor, looking around the vestibule like lost livestock.

"They're taking it pretty well, don't you think?" Garrus commented, coming up to stand behind Shepard and murmuring conspiratorially in her ear. Turning back to glance towards him, she moved away from him instead, taking a few steps forward towards the edge of the lobby overlook and staring down to where a group of three lab techs were discussing something in low voices, seeming completely unanimated in their conversation as they spoke. As she stared at them, one of the lab techs suddenly seemed to notice her, turning his head slowly to look at her, his flat, dark-ringed eyes cold and emotionless as he stared at her, blankly, unmoving, barely blinking. After a long moment of pause, a second of the lab techs in the discussion circle turned to look at her as well, this one a blonde-haired female, but her eyes were just as cold and hollow as her older male counterpart, causing a shiver to run up Shepard's spine at the sight of them. Tearing her gaze away from the techs, she started to make her way across the foyer to where the sign-in and information desk was, finally coming to stand in front of it and addressing the man behind the desk, who seemed completely engrossed in his work, even as she rapped three times on the glass to get his attention.

"I'm Commander Shepard, of the Alliance," she introduced herself, curtly, confused and frustrated when the man refused to look up at her. "You just had Reaper troops attacking your front door."

At this, the man finally turned his attention up towards her, slowly, mechanically, seeming almost indifferent at her statement. His eyes were hollow, dull, and blank, ringed with dark circles the likes of which Shepard had never seen on a living being before. "Are they still there?" he asked, slowly, his voice eerily calm despite the gravity of the situation.

Shepard frowned, disconcerted, feeling the hair on the back of her neck start to stand on edge at the abnormality of this entire facility. "I've taken care of them, for now," she returned, haltingly, resisting the urge to turn tail and run before they even had a chance to find Garneau.

"I see," the attendant informed her, emotionlessly. "That will be all." And with that, he returned his attention to his work, no longer interested in his visitors.

"That will be…?" Shepard repeated, taken aback. Glancing back towards Liara, confused, Shepard took another step forward, rapping on the glass again to get the attendant's attention. "Hello?" she asked, unsatisfied. Liara took a step forward as well, pushing the glowing green assistance button, causing it to give a soft _ding_ , and at this, the attendant looked up again, summoned, his dark-ringed eyes just as lifeless as ever as he turned his attention to Shepard, intent.

"Yes," he said, distantly. "Welcome to TGS Mineral Works. How can I help you? For the tour, please sign in."

"You don't seem worried about those Reapers," Shepard observed, now more than a bit confused, though her frustration at the general attitude of this place was beginning to outweigh her fear the longer she talked to the attendant at the desk. "You know something I don't?"

"TGS Mineral Works is a small to mid-lever supplier of tungsten to the galaxy," the attendant returned, monotone.

"That's not what I meant," Shepard informed him, frowning, now annoyed.

The attendant looked up at her again at this, locking his dead eyes with hers. "Are you familiar with the applications of tungsten?" he asked, impassively.

"Listen, I'm looking for a researcher named Doctor Garneau," Shepard told him, letting out a sigh as she leaned forward against the welcome desk, hoping to get through to him in some small way. "He would have arrived within the last couple weeks. If he's still here, I need to speak to him."

"We have no Doctor Garneau," the attendant reported, detachedly, his attention fixed firmly on his computer screen. "Do you need to see a doctor?"

"How about I just go in and look around—" Shepard started to say, becoming peeved, but found herself quickly cut off by the attendant.

"No," the attendant told her, cutting her off unexpectedly. "The access elevator is for the tour only. And now… we're done. Step away. You don't belong here."

Feeling her hackles begin to rise at this unexpectedly rude addition, Shepard started to take another step forward towards the attendant, but quickly found herself pulled back from the desk by a familiar weight on her shoulder. "Bad vibe to these guys," Garrus told her, his thumb curling around the edge of her shoulder-guard as he pressed his hand down more firmly, coaxing her gently back away from the welcome desk. "Don't think we want to push it."

"Let's just get to the elevator," Shepard muttered, throwing the attendant one last dirty look as he returned his attention to his computer screen. "These guys aren't gonna stop us. Let's just go."

* * *

Shepard's arrival on the lower floor of the mining facility had been met with the same unnerving lack of enthusiasm as her initial arrival to the station, with all the lower-level inhabitants either quickly closing up their research rooms to bar the visitors out, or not even seeming to notice their presence at all. The only difference between the two was a low, barely audible humming drone emanating from somewhere within the lower level of the facility. Shepard had heard the same droning sound while on the first level of the compound, but she had chosen to ignore it at the time. It was not unusual for mining camps to make odd noises, especially ones that were actively in use. Now, however, though she was still not totally convinced the sound was anything more than noise pollution coming from the mining facility's lab equipment, she had to admit that, down here, it was not quite as easily disregarded as it had been on the floor above. Opting to ignore the strange noise for the time being, Shepard had turned her attention instead towards the winding hallways of the Mining Lab, peering through every window that did not have a shade lowered over it to deter her away, looking for some sign of their missing researcher.

"The security log for the elevator said Garneau was here in the facility in the last week," Liara put in, frowning gently as she followed Shepard from one window to the next, observing a group of lab techs standing in a far corner who had not stopped openly staring at them since their arrival, following the party's progress through the halls of the facility with their dead, dark-ringed eyes. "Why would they lie about that?"

"No idea," Shepard answered, honestly. "Let's hope we don't have to look too far, though." Approaching one of the lab techs who had not tried to make herself scarce at the party's arrival, she cleared her throat, conspicuously, getting the woman's vacant attention. "I'm looking for a Doctor Garneau," she told the woman, straightforwardly. "Do you know where I can find Doctor Garneau?"

"I don't know what you mean," the woman informed her, emotionlessly, staring ahead at her blankly with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Aren't any of you worried about the Reapers?" Shepard insisted, now thoroughly confused. How an entire facility of people could be so willingly blind was beyond her scope of belief, especially with certain death knocking so closely at their door. Perhaps that was part of what made them this way, knowing that they could be killed at any moment, though she had never seen anyone react quite like this before, let alone an entire group of independently-thinking people.

"We know nothing," the woman returned, her voice lower to a whisper now as she turned her gaze away from Shepard, seeming almost afraid to look at her. "Go away. You don't belong here."

Frowning, Shepard turned away from the woman again, looking back towards Liara, who shrugged, just as confused as she was. Realizing they were not going to get any help from the inhabitants of the facility, Shepard and her team had started looking for clues, themselves, and it was not long before they began to uncover a number of mysterious logs and reports, all indicative of Garneau. A datapad left unattended in one of the backmost rooms contained a never-sent message from the researcher, and as Shepard listened, she could not help a feeling of dread from setting in. "Bryson, it's Garneau," the young researcher's voice came through the datapad speaker, sounding much less chipper now than he had in the report Shepard had heard in Bryson's lab. "I've had to go into hiding, and I need you to come get me. I found another one of those artefacts here. They're more important than we realized. It's in the mines. Here's the nav point – that's where I'll be. If something happens, I'm attaching a passcode that I hacked together. It'll open any security terminal. Bryson, something is very wrong here. Please, hurry. Garneau, out."

With the failsafe passcode now in hand, it had not taken much longer for Shepard and her team to find another piece of telling evidence, a progress report indicating an altercation that had broken out in the mines involving a single unknown male, who had then been sent to the medical bay for attention. Quickly following the lead to the medbay, they were surprised to find when the doors slid open that the medical centre was completely empty. The air in the hallways was stale, untouched, the treatment rooms shuttered off, the only sound coming from the soft humming and beeping of monitors showcasing the TGI Mineral Works logo. The deep thrumming noise seemed louder here, unnervingly so, though Shepard could not tell if that was because it was actually louder or if it was simply the lack of other noises present to drown it out. Moving through the medical bay, the team finally stopped when they came across a bleached hallway, washed out with a glaringly bright white light and framed on both sides by darkened treatment room windows. This was the only hallway in the entire medbay that had not been closed off for whatever reason, the shutters lifted from the windows to allow visitors to look inside, though the low lighting inside the rooms and the glare from the bright light outside in the hall made it difficult to see anything at all.

Squinting against the hard, dark light, Shepard could barely make out the prostrate form of a man lying on a medical cot inside the room. "Is that Garneau?" she asked, hopeful, glancing back towards the other two members of her party and pointing in at the unidentified form behind the glass. Liara and Garrus moved up to the window as well, cupping their hand around their eyes and peering into the darkness as well.

"That man is dead," Garrus observed, moving away from the window and shaking his head, regretfully. "Been dead a while, from the looks of it. If it is Garneau, we came a long way for nothing."

At this news, Shepard sighed, disappointed, pushing herself frustratedly away from the window. Suddenly, the sound of a muffled male voice caused her to turn, surprised, in time to see a second shadowy figure staring out at the party languidly from the darkened window across the hallway from the one they were looking into. "If you are looking for Garneau, you have found him," the shadowy figure told them, his voice almost dragging as he sought to speak with them. "I… am Doctor Garneau."

Crossing over to the window, interested, Shepard stood a few feet away from the glass, looking in at the new, mysterious figure who had summoned them over. "I'm Commander Shepard of the Alliance," she introduced herself, trying not to sound too excited to see him. "Are you all right?"

At this question, Garneau paused, leaning heavily against the window ledge and hanging his head, seeming exhausted, almost painfully so. "Yes," he finally answered, slowly. "Only… I'm trapped in here."

"What's been going on in this place?" Shepard asked, keenly. She wanted to trust the man after everything she knew he had been through up to that point, but something about the way he spoke was putting her on edge, making her feel, as with everything else in the facility, that something about him was not quite right. She figured the least she could do while she had him here was to ask for some details, to hopefully get at least some idea of what had been happening here, in this eerie mineral mausoleum.

Garneau paused, considering, as if trying to think back to even the most recent events, but he seemed to be having a hard time even doing that. "I was doing my research…" he said, his voice slow again, thoughtful. "Until… the incident."

"They attacked you," Shepard returned, astutely.

"It's true," Garneau agreed, looking up at her again, heavily. "But, aside from my confinement… I'm fine."

"Bryson's research led me to you," Shepard told him, matter-of-factly, and at this, Garneau seemed to straighten his posture a bit, intrigued.

"Bryson sent you?" he asked, sounding almost hopeful, for the first time.

"He's dead, Doctor," Shepard informed him, regretfully. "Killed by his assistant." The low, droning noise Shepard had noticed before seemed to grow a bit louder at this, almost as if in response to this news, but she quickly shook her head, blocking it out again. The idea that there was some unseen force at work here that had any interest in the fate of Doctor Bryson was preposterous at best, and Shepard had no intention of letting this place get to her head any more than she already had.

Garneau stared at her blankly at the news, seeming strangely unaffected by the fate of his former research associate. "I see," he finally answered, unmoved.

"I need you to tell me everything you found on the Leviathan," Shepard insisted, taking a step closer to the glass. As she did so, the droning sound became suddenly louder again, this time seeming to come almost from within her own head, but she forced herself to ignore it, not wanting to acknowledge it and make a bigger deal out of it than she already had. All it was was static feedback from lab equipment, she told herself. Nothing more. "Bryson seemed to think it killed a Reaper," she went on, speaking over the sound of the droning, which continued to get steadily louder the longer she went on. "What do you know about that?"

Garneau stared at her, as if trying to determine the best way to answer. Then, hanging his head again, he shook it, his hands curling into half-claws on the edge of the windowsill. "A myth," he answered, deadpan. "A dead end."

"But what about the artefact you mentioned in your message?" Garrus asked, taking a step forward towards the glass as well, curious.

At this, Garneau looked up again, staring at Garrus, as if seeing him for the first time. "…I did?" he finally asked, sounding genuinely surprised at the news. Then, shaking his head again, he added, resolutely, "…No."

"Yes, Doctor, you did," Shepard told him, insistent, taking another step forward towards the glass, now standing so close she was almost pressed up against it. "But now we've got Reaper forces attacking, so I need to break you out. We'll grab the artefact and go—"

"Reapers?" Garneau cut her off, repeating the word, seeming to recognize it, though not quite where he knew it from. At this word, the thrumming grew even louder, louder than it had ever been before, too loud now to dismiss as some byproduct of lab equipment noise. "The darkness must not be breached," Garneau insisted, his voice rising for the first time, sounding strangely manic, even angry.

"The darkness…?" Shepard repeated, taken aback, taking a wary step away from the glass as the sound continued to grow louder, louder, almost ear-splittingly loud, vibrating out of the very foundation of the facility and through her head, causing her to reach up a hand to try to stop it, but to no avail. Suddenly, Garneau looked up at her, making eye contact for the first time, his eyes black, lifeless, ringed by circles so dark they looked almost as if the skin around his eyes had begun to rot away. Bringing up both hands, he slammed his fists into the bulletproof glass of the treatment room, the low sound growing ever louder, causing the lights in the hallway to flicker and spark as the entire pane rattled menacingly on its supports.

"WHY DO YOU PURSUE ME?" Garneau insisted, speaking with a voice not his own. It was a low voice, guttural, the same sort of menacing voice Shepard had heard from the Reapers, from Harbinger, from the Brute in her nightmare.

"Doctor?!" Shepard exclaimed, startled, taking another step back away from the window, her eyes wide.

In response, Garneau lifted his fists again, slamming them into the glass once more, this time causing a large, spiderweb crack to form across the bulletproof surface. "Leave the artefact," he demanded, speaking still in that low, haunted voice. " _You will not take what is mine_."

"I don't believe we're actually speaking with Garneau," Liara remarked, her hand hovering over the pistol at her belt as her malt-blue eyes stayed trained on the doctor, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

Suddenly getting an idea, Shepard looked up at Garneau again, feeling a sense of misplaced, almost manic bravery overtaking her as she took a step forward towards the possessed doctor. "You!" she addressed him, audaciously. "You killed a Reaper. I need your help."

Garneau's dead, black eyes widened at her tenacity, his hands pressed up against the window, pressed flat against the glass, the low, thrumming noise growing overwhelmingly loud as he stared her down. "YOU BRING ONLY DEATH," he told her, finalistically, and, with one last, loud rumble, the pane of the window blew out completely, showering Shepard, Liara, and Garrus in a cascade of thick, jagged glass, causing them to duck and cover their heads for fear of being sliced. Ignoring the perilous sharp edges left by the broken glass, Garneau hoisted himself over the edge of the open sill, cutting his hands and legs open as he jumped down onto the floor of the infirmary and leaving a telltale trail of blood in his wake as he ran. He did not even seem to notice his injuries as he took off through the lab with seeming superhuman speed, stopping only to close doors behind him to make it harder for Shepard and her team to follow.

"Get after him!" Shepard shouted, getting to her feet and starting to run, barely sparing a moment to brush the shards of glass from her armour and hair before setting off after Garneau as fast as she could run. She had almost made it all the way to the entrance to the mines when she suddenly stopped, grabbing blindly at a stitch in her side as she involuntarily lost her footing, falling noisily to one knee and letting out a yell of pain at her fumble. Garrus and Liara instantly stopped at the sound, turning to return to their friend to see what was the matter, but Shepard shook her head, waving a hand in Garneau's direction. "Don't worry about me!" she insisted, allowing Liara to coax one hand away from her side, and then the other, precariously. "I'll be fine! Don't lose Garneau! You have to get Garneau!"

Garrus hesitated, fidgeting anxiously in place, before finally taking her word for it and turning to follow Garneau again. Letting out another bark of pain, Shepard looked down to where Liara had slid her hand underneath Shepard's protective gear and was now gently massaging the stitch in her side through her undersuit. "You shouldn't be running like that," Liara told her, quietly, making sure to keep her voice down as Shepard practiced her breathing, returning her heart rate to as near as normal as she could manage. "You can't keep exerting yourself like this. You could seriously hurt yourself one of these days. Yourself or your other… your… you, yourself." Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening to them, she turned her attention back to Shepard again, her painted brow furrowed gently, more solemn this time. "Excess stress could cause you to go into early labour," she whispered. "You could miscarry out in the field if you're not careful. Even I wouldn't be able to help you then."

"What am I supposed to do instead, Liara?" Shepard insisted, wetting her lips and frowning up at her friend, frustrated. "Just not go on missions? Just not run? Just not fight?"

"I don't know what you should do, Shepard," Liara returned, letting out a soft sigh as she retrieved her hand, sliding Shepard's abdominal plate back into place. "If you must keep going on missions, I guess try to keep your stress to a minimum."

"I'll keep that in mind," Shepard told her, grunting as she pushed herself heavily to her feet. "Reapers and Cerberus and Leviathans aside… what could possibly cause me stress?"

"Shepard…" Liara began, but was quickly cut off by Shepard shaking her head and waving a hand in her direction.

"Let's just go, Liara," she said, jerking her head towards the mining tunnels. "Before Garneau gets away again. Garrus is good, but he's just one turian. It's gonna take more than that to take down Garneau."

"If you say so," Liara answered, worriedly, before turning and following Shepard into the tunnels after Garneau.


	23. WEEK FOURTEEN, Pt.2

With the Normandy's course set for the Citadel, all that was left to do aboard was wait. Following the events on Mahavid, Shepard had made an effort to speak with as few people as possible concerning the details of Leviathan, not wanting to worry her crew more than absolutely necessary. However, despite her best efforts to keep quiet, small details about the Reaper killer still seemed to have seeped through the cracks of conversation with other members of her team, as more than once she found herself approached by a crew member asking her in a quiet voice how they would know if they were being influenced. She had quickly quelled their concerns by assuring them that it would be obvious, but even as they turned away, satisfied, Shepard could not help but worry that it might not be as black and white as she was making it out to be. If the TGI Mineral Works employees could go ten years without realizing they were indoctrinated, she had no idea how long it would take the crew of the Normandy to realize something was wrong before it was too late and they found themselves trapped in a similar situation.

Taking a much-needed break from rearranging her model ship display, Shepard made her way down towards the main crew deck, leaning tiredly against the side of the elevator as she watched the sleek white walls of the shaft slide slowly past the slatted panels of the lift. Letting out a soft sigh, she chewed distractedly at her lower lip, trying to keep her mind off thoughts of Leviathan as the elevator coasted to a stop, the green light beside the door blinking on again as the doors slid open for her to exit. Gardener raised a hand in greeting as she passed through the mess hall towards the gun battery, which she gladly returned before making her way down the long crew deck hallway towards the weaponry hub of the ship. The doors of the gun battery slid open easily to allow her entrance as she approached, and she casually made her way inside, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as she came to stand beside Garrus at the main console.

Garrus looked down at her, seeming at first surprised, but then satisfied by her presence, before turning his attention back to his work, not allowing himself to get too distracted from the task at hand. "Strange stuff, back on that asteroid," he commented, offhandedly. "We've seen indoctrination before, but… ten years?"

"Yeah," Shepard agreed, letting out a low, disbelieving breath. "Seems crazy."

"Leviathan had its own private army," Garrus said, seeming genuinely stunned by the whole affair. "You've got to wonder how much longer that would have lasted if we hadn't come along." He paused a moment, thoughtful, before finally letting out a soft snort and frowning a bit, discouraged. "Just when I thought we were getting a handle on Reapers, _this_ happens," he added, shaking his head. "Maybe Leviathan's more than a bullseye. Maybe it's… something else."

"Like what?" Shepard asked, interested, turning to look up at him.

Garrus shrugged, out of ideas, before turning to look down at her again. "I don't know," he told her, honestly. "None of us does. And that's the scary part." He hesitated again, staring at her for another moment, watching her, as if expecting some sort of snappy response, some off-the-cuff, hard-nosed retort from the witty space commander. When nothing came, he frowned faintly, seeming almost discouraged, before turning his attention back to his work, but his attempt to distract himself was in vain, as he quickly turned to look back at her again before asking, tentatively, "Are you… feeling okay?"

At this, Shepard looked up again, surprised by the question. "Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, frankly, hoping to avoid answering the loaded question by simply working around it.

Garrus considered her answer, thoughtful, before finally shrugging again, seeming almost embarrassed to have asked. "I don't know," he admitted, trying not to sound as guilty as he looked. "I just… was worried, was all. Back on Mahavid, when you… got that… cramp, or whatever it was…"

"That's all it was, Garrus," Shepard assured him, putting a comforting hand on his arm. "It was just a cramp. Don't look too far into it. I'm _fine_ , I promise."

"Okay," Garrus conceded, turning his attention back to his console again. "It's just I… I worry about you, you know? I can't help it. It's what boyfriends do."

"Okay, _boyfriend_ ," Shepard teased, pulling gently down on the rim of his carapace armour to get him to bend low enough for her to kiss him on the cheek. "Well, I appreciate the gesture, regardless. Even if it _was_ just a cramp."

Garrus laughed, softly, a bit embarrassed by his own anxious fussing, before nodding agreeably and returning his attention to his calibration screen. "Okay," he told her. "I believe you." Having said this, he paused another moment, thoughtful, before turning to look over at her again, worriedly. "You would tell me if it were something more serious, right?" he asked, sounding uncertain again. "I know you're a big, tough hero and all… Commander Shepard, _saviour of the galaxy_ , so you might not think your problems are worth worrying the rest of us about, but…" His mandibles shuddered, warily, before giving a telling, downward twitch. "I would never forgive myself if you got hurt because you thought I'd be better off not worrying about something," he told her, honestly, letting out a hefty sigh. "I can't stop you from doing whatever it is you decide is best for you, but…"

" _Garrus_ ," Shepard told him, cutting him off with a laugh as she reached up to take his worrying face in her hands, adoringly. "It was just a cramp. Okay? I'm _fine_." Smiling up at him, she ran the pads of her thumbs affectionately across the tough texture of his cheeks, causing him to give a soft purr as he reached up, taking one of her hands in his and pressing it against his face.

"Okay," Garrus agreed, softly, nuzzling his cheek into the palm of her hand. "If you say so."

"I do," Shepard told him, reassuringly.

* * *

The taxi ride back to Bryson's lab seemed to take much less time than it had the first time Shepard had gone there, if only because of EDI's presence to distract her from the fact that they were using the autopilot. The minute the shuttle touched down again, Shepard was out and on her feet, making her way directly to the room where the artefact still sat and coming to stand in front of the enclosure, staring hard at the glass-encased relic, her hands folded thoughtfully behind her. She turned her head at the sound of EDI's footsteps following her into the building, coming to stand dutifully behind her at the encasement, before returning her attention to the artefact and pointing to it, indicatively. "We need to shield the artefact they've got here right away," she instructed, matter-of-factly.

Moving in closer to the artefact, EDI peered in at the relic, processing, before pulling up her omni-tool function and nodding her head in agreement. "Using Garneau's data, I should be able to accomplish this without difficulty," she informed Shepard, openly. Typing a command into her omni-tool, she turned her head towards a nearby, single-button console jutting out of the laboratory floor nearby, and, as she looked at it, the button on its face lit up from black to red to green. As soon as it turned green, EDI glanced back towards Shepard, expectantly, and Shepard, seeing this, took a step forward, pushing the button and causing a blue-light honeycomb-pattern forcefield to flicker into life around the artefact, further shielding it from outside stimuli.

"Damn thing's been here the whole time," Shepard breathed, taking a few wary steps back away from the relic before turning her attention to EDI again. "Why weren't we affected?"

"Perhaps the amount of time spent near the artefact is key," EDI suggested, looking up at the forcefield, interestedly. "After a certain duration, it affords Leviathan an impressive mind control capability."

Shepard frowned, crossing her arms across her chest as she turned her attention back to the artefact as well, watching it keenly, as if expecting it to do something other than just sit there and shimmer. "I'd call it dangerous as hell," she commented, darkly. "Bryson's assistant tried to kill me."

"Perhaps Leviathan was controlling him to protect itself," EDI proposed, thoughtfully. "Diverting people away from its trail."

"Maybe," Shepard returned, still staring distractedly at the now field-enclosed artefact. "It just shows we don't know what we're dealing with yet."

"Despite the risk, this artefact remains our only link to finding Leviathan," EDI put in, turning her attention to Shepard now, her newfound enthusiasm causing Shepard to return the attention. "Perhaps we could find more information about it here in the lab."

Shepard paused, thoughtful, before giving an assenting nod in return. "Agreed," she said. "Bryson's team may have turned up something we missed. I'll look around."

"I will be here," EDI replied, turning her attention to the artefact once more.

* * *

The thorough search of the lab had turned up very little on the nature of the artefact, or the identity of the Leviathan. While Shepard had managed to find plentiful data on what the artefact was _not_ – it did not emit energy waves, it was not Reapertech, and the project associated with it brought up no relevant current events – data on what the artefact actually was seemed to be scarce. The only promising lead she and EDI had managed to recover was a vid message from Bryson's daughter, Anne, informing him that she had found another artefact similar to Garneau's while working at a dig site in the Pylos Nebula. Her message went on to inform Bryson that she had been unable to contact Garneau, but that she feared the artefact had the ability to effect behaviour, and that he should shield the one in his office to avoid incident. The message ended abruptly with Anne announcing the arrival of Reaper forces and giving a quick location update, saying she was going to try to recover what data she could from being destroyed by attacking forces.

Leaving the shield up to protect the artefact while they were gone, Shepard and EDI had returned to the Normandy to set a course for the Pylos Nebula. Once there, it had taken only a minimal amount of scanning, along with the help of the coordinates they had taken from Anne's final message, for EDI to locate Anne Bryson's dig site on the surface of the planet Namakli. The drop-in was precarious, with Reaper forces attacking the Kodiak from every angle the instant it broke the atmosphere, causing Shepard and her team to have to jump for their landing. Shepard winced at the hard impact, gritting her teeth as she resisted the urge to clasp her hands over her abdomen in pain, but pushed herself determinedly back to her feet, shooting Liara a silencing look as she gripped her gun resolutely between her armoured hands, making her way to the head of the team and pushing herself towards the finish.

The ground rumbled threateningly under their feet as they made their perilous way to the dig site, Anne Bryson's voice crackling desperately over the radio the closer they got, informing them that one of her team was injured, and several more were dead. With Bryson's help, Shepard was able to finally find the elevator leading up to the tiny, one-room shelter where Bryson and her teammate were hiding, only to find that the last, injured member of the archaeological crew had also died trying to be a hero, leaving Bryson as the last survivor. Indicating for Bryson to come with them, Shepard took her outside the shelter, crouching low behind a rock formation to hide themselves from Reaper view until their rescue could arrive. Bryson visibly shook as she clambered over next to the Commander, curling up beside her against the boulder in a terrified bundle of nerves, her murky-grey eyes wide as she looked out over the war-torn carnage that had once been a well-esteemed archaeological forum.

"I was at another dig site when they attacked," Bryson said, her voice breaking, causing Shepard to look her way. "I got back as quick as I could, but… what's happening?"

"Shepard, look," Garrus suddenly put in, cutting her off before she had a chance to explain and pointing to something on the rock wall behind him. The image was of an enormous, Reaper-like entity, painted in primitive red and black, spreading what appeared to be its clawed legs out over a rapturous audience of humanoid-looking beings painted across the bottom of the rock face. Shepard and Bryson both stared, lost for words, before Shepard frowned, shaking her head and turning her attention back to Bryson.

"I'm not sure," she admitted, answering Bryson's question, causing the archaeologist to turn her attention towards her again. "But it might have something to do with those paintings. Is that Leviathan?"

Bryson faltered, taken aback. "Y… yes," she finally stammered. "Yes, we think so. It's… old. Much older than my father thought." Turning her attention back to the image on the rock wall, she pointed to another part of the painting, where a group of the crudely-drawn people were all turned in one particular direction, carrying spears, while another sat off to the side, tending to someone who seemed to be sick or otherwise incapacitated. "And there," she added, fervently. "As if the natives were under its power! Clearly a Reaper, but acting alone. Not like any Reaper we've seen before."

"Doctor, I understand you found something recently," Shepard told her, causing Bryson to turn away from the painting again.

"The artefact," Bryson offered, freely, sounding more and more excited, almost manically so, the longer she talked about her findings. "Yes, of course. Incredible. In fact, it's just ahead…" Here, she stopped, turning her head suddenly in the direction she had been talking about, as if realizing for the first time how dangerous a proposition this was. Taking her indicative lead, Garrus got to his feet, moving in a stealthy crouch towards the edge of the rock outcropping to peer around the corner of the foundation. Shepard was quick to follow, taking Bryson with her, with Liara pulling up the rear, making sure they were not being followed. "It may sound strange, but I'm certain it affects people," Bryson added, speaking in a much lower voice now as she sought to keep up with Shepard's broad steps. "Their behaviour. I've only had a short time to study it—"

"Not strange at all," Shepard assured her, keeping her eyes trained on the line of her weapon. "Did you find anything?"

"Not much," Bryson admitted, nervously. "But I did learn something about the energy it generates."

"Get down!" Shepard suddenly hissed, reaching out a hand to press Bryson back against the rock wall, hiding her from view. Ducking down against the wall as well, Shepard gave a heavy huff of breath, gripping her weapon tightly to her chest as she turned her head, peering around the side of the rock formation towards the open arena below. The momentary lapse gave her a much-needed moment to catch her breath, though the sight that greeted her from the dig site ahead was much less agreeable tradeoff. Three Marauders were huddled around Bryson's artefact, two of them inspecting it enthusiastically up close while a third stood to one side, eagerly absorbing some sort of electrical-looking power from its energy field. Shepard made a face, confused and disgusted, before ducking her head back around and turning her attention to Bryson again. "What are they doing?" she asked, her voice barely above a censorious whisper.

Bryson's eyes widened, intrigued, and she looked around the corner as well, giving a soft, audible gasp of breath when she saw what the Marauders were doing. "They've activated it somehow," she whispered back, returning to her place against the wall. "I've never managed anything…" Suddenly, her voice trailed off, the look of wonder fading from her face as her expression went slack, all the light leaving her eyes as she took a rigid step forward, and then another, heading towards the edge of the outcropping, as if not in complete control of her own body.

"Doctor!" Shepard hissed, taking a quick step forward and grabbing Bryson by the arm. Bryson did not even seem to notice, instead taking another determined step forward, dragging Shepard along with her as she stared unwaveringly out across the open dig site towards where the Marauders still stood, desecrating the artefact.

"They've learned too well," Bryson spoke up then, firmly, her voice harsh, nothing like the sweet, anxious tone she had been using before. As she spoke, a second voice began to overlap it, deeper, sinister, sounding eerily like the voice Shepard had heard Garneau use in the mining camp just before he had detonated the bomb that took his own life, and destroyed the artefact along with it. " _The darkness must not be breached_."

"Shepard!" Liara exclaimed, worriedly, rushing forward to help Shepard hold Bryson back.

Shepard grunted, digging her heels into the rock outcropping as she tried to pull Bryson back towards safety, but Bryson merely took another step forward, pulling both Shepard and Liara with her. "Take it out!" Shepard shouted towards Garrus, and instantly he grabbed his rifle from his maglock, aiming at the artefact, firing again and again until finally, the artefact shattered, bursting outward in an explosion of energy and knocking all the Marauders standing around it off their feet. As soon as the relic was destroyed, Bryson immediately dropped to her hands and knees, causing Shepard and Liara to tumble to the ground as well, no longer being pulled. Quickly, Shepard crawled over to where Bryson knelt, looking dazed and as if she were about to throw up on the spot. "Are you okay?" she asked, worriedly, placing a reassuring hand on Bryson's back. Bryson looked up, her gaze distant, startled, almost dizzy as she shook her head, staring around at her surroundings, unsure how she got on the ground. Pressing her fingers into her in-ear comm, Shepard reported, breathless, "Cortez, we have Anne Bryson. Need a pickup."

"On my way, Commander," Cortez returned automatically.

"Copy that," Shepard conceded. Then, allowing Liara to help her to her feet, she helped Bryson to her feet in turn, taking the younger woman by the arms and forcing the archaeologist to look at her. "You see the shuttle, you _run_ ," she told her, firmly. "Don't look back."

"Okay, yes," Bryson agreed, breathless, nodding enthusiastically.

Shepard looked up, seeing the shadow of the Kodiak skimming across the face of the rock formation, and turned, relieved, in time to see it come to a shuddering, braking halt just over the edge of the cliff. "Go!" Shepard pressed, giving Bryson a push in the direction of the shuttle. "Go! I'm right behind you!" Changing out her heat sink for a fresh one from her belt, Shepard clicked the sink in place, turning to cover their retreat as they made a beeline for the Kodiak. The shuttle hovered a foot or two above ground level, just far enough off the edge of the dropoff that its engines would not kick off against the rock outcropping when it retook to the air. Reaching the edge of the rocky ledge, Bryson took a running start, launching herself into the shuttle, followed quickly by Liara, and then Garrus. Shepard was the last to reach it, feeling a sense of panic at the sight of what would normally have been an easy jump for her, but now she was unsure if she could make it.

"Garrus!" she called, causing him to turn quickly at the sound of his name. Holstering her gun in the maglock at her back, Shepard held out her arms for him to take, and Garrus immediately complied, grabbing hold of her elbows and heaving her up and into the shuttle. He clutched her protectively around the waist as she pulled herself the rest of the way up, before watching the door of the shuttle shut securely behind them.

"Another cramp?" Garrus asked, worriedly, his voice low.

Untangling herself from his grasp, Shepard ignored his comment, instead turning her attention towards Bryson, who had settled herself into a seat on one of the shuttle's benches and now sat rigidly, her hands curled into worried, confused fists on each of her thin knees. "You all right?" Shepard asked, causing Bryson to look up immediately, her murky-grey eyes wide, surprised at having been addressed.

"Yeah, Commander," Bryson returned, haltingly. "I… I think so. I… blacked out."

Shepard nodded, understanding, tightening her grip on the overhead handlebar as the Kodiak gave a violent shudder, rocked by the shift in atmosphere. "Leviathan took control of you," she explained, gently. "We cut the connection before you got hurt."

"Leviathan, itself?" Bryson asked, amazed, her eyes widening eagerly at the thought. "That's… incredible."

"The Reapers seem as interested in it as we are," Shepard added, candidly, glancing over her shoulder towards the door of the Kodiak before returning her attention to Bryson and frowning faintly.

"Yeah," Bryson agreed, seeming suddenly less enthused as she leaned forward tiredly on her elbows again. "It certainly seems that way."

"We were hoping you could help us figure out why," Shepard informed her, frankly. "But… first, Doctor…" She paused, unsure how to tell Bryson about what had occurred at her father's lab. She had always been told that honesty was the best policy, but she still found that it was never easy delivering bad news, no matter how honest she was. "I have some… bad news," she said.

"Anne, please," Bryson corrected, eagerly, holding up a rectifying hand. "Suppose Leviathan has broken away from the other Reapers? Never went back to dark space? Like a rogue. Or even a defector!" Her eyes lit up with enthusiasm at the thought of uncovering the Leviathan's secrets, seeming to not even notice or completely ignore the grave looks Shepard and her team were giving each other as she spoke. "I have to call my father," she said, excitedly, looking around at all of them before reaching up a hand to activate her in-ear comm. "He'll want to know."

"Anne," Shepard sighed, kneeling down in front of her, resting one hand reassuringly on her knee while gently moving her hand away from her ear with the other. "You need to listen to me, okay? Your father…" Biting her lip, she stared into Bryson's face, seeing the joy, the enthusiasm of discovery, and knowing how quickly it would all go away once she told her the grave news. "…He's dead," she said, quietly, shaking her head as she rested her hands comfortingly on Bryson's knees. "I'm sorry."

Bryson hesitated, unsure she had heard Shepard correctly, before a frown began to creep across her features, slowly at first, but then entirely, her expression changing quickly from gleeful enthusiasm to utter, heartbroken shock. "He's… what?" she whispered, her breath catching in her throat as she forced the words out, needing to hear herself say them to even begin to believe. "Dead? He can't be dead…"

"We met with him, hoping to find out what he knew," Shepard told her, speaking slowly, still trying to figure out the best way to explain what had occurred. "Something… happened."

"Something… happened?" Bryson clarified, her frown deepening as she narrowed her eyes at Shepard, desperate for information.

"You're not the first to lose control," Shepard explained, giving a soft sigh as she slowly returned to her feet. "Your father's assistant… one minute, he was fine. The next…" Faltering, she looked at the ground, turning away from Bryson, coaxing herself to continue on with the story. No matter how hard it was for her to tell, she was certain it was even harder for Bryson to hear, but she deserved to know what happened, regardless. "He drew a gun on your father," Shepard continued, haltingly, forcing herself to speak. "I… couldn't stop him."

"I can't believe this," Bryson breathed, seeming lost, almost in a daze.

"We have to find out what's behind it all," Shepard told her, turning to look at her again, determinedly. "You're the only one who can help us." She paused, staring expectantly at Bryson, waiting for an answer, but when none came, she bent down again, looking up into Bryson's face. "…Anne?" she asked, gently, pulling her back to reality.

"I… I wanna see his office," Bryson stammered out, turning her attention to Shepard again, her eyes still glassy with shock as she spoke.

Shepard hesitated, considering her, before nodding and reaching out a hand to cover Bryson's hand, reassuringly. "We'll arrange for transportation and meet you there," she told her, gently.

* * *

"Hey Commander, need a hand?"

Shepard turned, surprised at having been distracted from her work, but gave a small, relieved smile when she saw that it was only Vega, standing in the doorway of Bryson's laboratory, peering in at her with a helpful, expectant smile. Letting himself into the laboratory, Vega looked around in wonder at the numerous oddities covering the lab from floor to ceiling as he made his way over to Shepard, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his military-issue pants and letting out a long, low whistle. "Some place Bryson has here," he murmured, coming to a stop beside the microresearch table and leaning distractedly against it. Suddenly he gave a yelp of surprise, taking a swift leap backwards as the reanimated husk head sitting in the middle of the table gave a territorial snarl, snapping violently at his hand before returning to its regular, inert state. "What the hell is that?" Vega asked, pointing at the disembodied head as he rubbed his other hand distractedly across his stomach, trying to calm his frazzled nerves.

"Please don't touch that," Bryson answered, quickly, turning to look at him now as well. "My father worked very hard to keep that head alive for his research. Antagonizing it only makes it harder to manage in the long run."

"That thing is alive?" Vega asked, startled, hurriedly retrieving the hand he had been using to point at it.

Shepard gave a soft chuckle, amused by the lighthearted back and forth. "What brings you down here, James?" she asked him, cordial despite the interruption. It was impossible for her to stay mad at Vega when she knew he only meant well in everything he did.

"Heard you're closing in on the Reaper killer," Vega answered, candidly, moving further down the table away from the husk head before leaning casually against the tabletop again. "Anything that can scare those bastards has to be worth a look."

"That's what I'm hoping," Shepard told him, giving a soft, anxious sigh, before turning her attention back to the artefact behind the forcefield, frowning and crossing her arms across her chest as she studied it, intently. "We didn't detect any energy emissions from the artefact," she admitted, turning to look at Bryson now, hoping for some explanation.

"But the Reapers were able to use the artefact to trace Leviathan somehow," EDI returned, observantly.

"My theory is that, most of the time, the artefact simply acts as a receiver," Bryson explained, her voice reedy as she stared intently at the artefact, a soft, frustrated frown creasing her plain features. "We'll only be able to trace Leviathan through it when it actively takes control of someone."

"As it did on the asteroid," EDI put in, helpfully.

"Right," Bryson agreed. "Unless it needs something, Leviathan doesn't bother communicating. I guess it and my father had something in common."

Shepard's frown deepened at this unexpected addendum, and she turned to look at Bryson, curious, but the archaeologist did not seem to want to look back, instead simply staring ahead at the artefact, studying it fervently. "Anne," Shepard told her, quietly, trying her hardest to be delicate. "I know this is hard, but if there's anything more you can tell us…"

"I don't think there's anything more I can tell you," Bryson informed her, frankly. "But maybe… I can show you."

At this, Shepard paused, taken aback by the odd suggestion. "What are you saying?" she asked, uncertainly.

Turning away from the artefact, Bryson faced Shepard, a look of determination on her face as she indicated towards the relic again. "The artefact only sends out a signal when Leviathan is controlling someone," she explained, fervently. "So let it control me. You could trace the signal."

"You mean let it take you over?" Shepard asked, disconcerted. "That's too dangerous."

"It's my call, not yours," Bryson insisted, taking an angry step forward. "You said I'm your last chance to find this thing—"

"We have no idea what will happen," Shepard spoke over her, cutting her off.

"If we wait, the Reapers will get to Leviathan first!" Bryson stressed, pointing again towards the artefact. "I'm the only one here who's spent enough time with it to do this. You're looking for something to fight the Reapers, Commander – I'm looking for the monster that murdered my father."

"We still don't know what we're looking for," Shepard countered, rationally.

"Then let's find out," Bryson pressed, determined. Pulling the chair used to interrogate Hadley over in front of the artefact, she sat herself down in it, folding her hands resolutely in her lap and staring at Shepard, determinedly. Shepard stared back, frustrated, pursing her lips as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, out of ideas to deter her. The young archaeologist seemed resolute to find the Leviathan by any means necessary, but Shepard had seen enough reckless endeavours like these go terribly wrong to trust that this might be any different. Vega, until then content to watch from a distance, now moved up to stand beside the Commander, crossing his beefy arms across his chest as he stared at the artefact behind the shield, his amicable brow furrowing with worry.

"Commander," he spoke up, causing Shepard to look his way. "This thing we're doing with Anne… sounds dangerous as hell."

"Noted," Shepard returned with a sigh, before turning to look to her other side, where EDI stood at the main console, typing something into the controls. "EDI?"

"Energy signature locked in," EDI confirmed. "Waiting for activation."

Shepard nodded, turning her attention back to Bryson, who was staring at the floor now, her hands curled into anxious fists on her knees as Vega came to stand behind her, placing a large, reassuring hand on her frail shoulder. "You sure about this?" Shepard asked her, uncertainly, hoping to give her one last chance to bow out with dignity.

Bryson took a deep breath, inhaling sharply through her nose, before offering Shepard a curt, determined nod. "Yes," she answered, doggedly. "I'm sure."

"I'm gonna be right here," Vega assured her, giving her shoulder a quick, supportive squeeze.

"Okay," Bryson returned, appreciatively, her voice shaking with nerves as she turned her murky-grey gaze up towards Shepard, her expression set and determined. "I'm ready."

"James," Shepard said, her voice dark, causing Vega to look up, attentive. "…Drop the containment shield."

* * *

Just as Bryson had predicted, the Leviathan had channelled itself through the artefact, and by extent, through her, almost as soon as the containment field had dropped. The warning it had issued through Bryson this time had been simple, the same warning it had issued every time before, telling Shepard and her associates that the darkness could not be breached, must not be breached, or else dire consequences would befall them. Figuring that a full minute of this was more than enough for their purposes, Shepard had cut the experiment short, but, despite the small window of opportunity, EDI had still managed to track the signal coming through the artefact. Once they were certain Bryson would make a full recovery from her brush with indoctrination, they set a course for the Psi Tophet system, where the Leviathan signal seemed to be the strongest. Though EDI had not managed to narrow the Leviathan's location down to an exact point from the artefact's signal, Shepard figured it would take them enough time to reach the broader system that she could easily figure it out along the way.

The doors of the gun battery slid open easily as Shepard approached, but this time, rather than heading immediately to stand beside Garrus at his console, she paused, watching him work from the doorway. He seemed to be too engrossed in his calibrations to even notice her arrival, and so, quietly moving into the room, she let the doors slide shut behind her, careful not to let him hear her approach as she made her way up behind him. Biting her lip mischievously, she reached up a hand towards the side of his head where his eyepiece was perched, intent on seeing how close she could get before he noticed and objected. Her hand had almost reached the visor, her finger mere inches from impact, when he suddenly gave a soft little cough, clearing his throat knowingly. "You know I know you're there," he told her, causing her to quickly retrieve her hand with a tiny, embarrassed grin.

"Didn't think you'd be able to see me," Shepard admitted, tucking her seditious hand back into the pocket of her hoodie, trying hard to hide her cheeky disappointment. "I thought that thing only helped you see straight ahead, for aiming purposes. Figured it probably blocked out peripheral vision to help you focus better on the target."

"Not necessarily," Garrus answered, turning to look down at her now with a fond half-smirk. "And, either way, I've still got _ears_. You're not exactly quiet when you come around, you know, and I can hear the doors opening and closing just fine. I don't need peripheral vision for that."

Shepard faltered at this revelation, glancing back towards the traitorous doors, before turning her attention towards Garrus again and letting out a soft, disappointed laugh. "I always forget those things are there," she admitted. "Guess I've got worse spatial perception than you do."

"Debatable," Garrus returned, good-naturedly. "Though I've got help, so I have the advantage." Reaching up with one clawed hand, he tapped his targeting visor, before returning his hand return to his work console and continuing to type away. The two stood in silence for a long moment, Garrus concentrating on his work and Shepard watching him do it, before he suddenly cleared his throat again, softly, turning to look down at her once more. "Shepard," he told her, sounding almost hesitant to speak. "I… admit, I was worried about you on that dig site. Things got… pretty hectic. Not used to feeling like that… y'know."

"Aw," Shepard cooed, looking up at him, teasingly. "Careful, Vakarian, or I might start thinking you care about me."

"Well, I wouldn't want you thinking _that_ ," Garrus answered, playfully, giving another soft, deep chuckle. "But… well, I don't know. I guess it's to be expected." He paused again, thinking about it, before finally giving a shrug of his broad, armoured shoulders. "I guess… that's just what love does," he told her, truthfully. "Turns a guy like me into a nervous wreck with something to lose, and the aim to make sure he doesn't."

"Love?" Shepard asked, taken aback, trying to hide her nervousness at the use of the heavy word. "Who said anything about love?"

"Okay, then, _smarty pants_ ," Garrus teased, laughing lightly as he turned his attention to his work again. "Miss _too tough for love_. That doesn't change the way I feel. Nobody better hurt you… is all I'm saying." Lapsing into silence again, he stared ahead at his console screen, typing in commands as he came to them, watching the tiny white text scroll. Suddenly, he paused again, allowing the text to scroll, unchecked, before looking down at Shepard again, seeming to have something weighing on his mind. "Shepard," he said, speaking slowly now, causing her to look up at him, concerned. "I… wanted to ask you something. About that… baby. Our… baby."

Shepard blanched, feeling the sick sensation of her stomach rising into her throat, threatening to choke her on her own frayed nerves. "What baby?" she asked, forcibly casual, trying hard not to sound as startled as she felt. If Garrus knew about the baby, that meant someone other than her had told him about it. Her first, immediate thought was Javik, but she stayed determinedly quiet, hoping against hope he was talking about something else, anything else, other than the life she carried inside her.

"You know," Garrus reminded her, shrugging one plated shoulder, offhandedly. "The one you said you wanted. Back in the apartment, on the Citadel."

"Oh," Shepard returned, awkward, thinking quickly on her feet. "I… wasn't exactly being serious, Garrus. I didn't really expect you to remember that conversation at all… to be honest."

"I remember a lot more than you give me credit for," Garrus informed her, giving a soft, amused snort. He hesitated again, turning his attention downward, starting to fidget uncomfortably with his hands as he tried to figure out how to say what he was thinking. "Listen," he told her, haltingly. "I… know that we, the two of us, that we can't… have one of our own, but… if _you_ wanted to have one, with, say… Vega, or… someone, as a surrogate of sorts…"

"Whoa, hey," Shepard stopped him, quickly holding up her hands and laughing nervously, if just a bit too loudly. "Wait a minute, whoa there. Who said anything about Vega?"

"Well," Garrus told her, giving a soft, frank cough of breath. "I hate to be crass, but… I know you, Shepard. When you say you're interested in sleeping with someone, you're generally… not joking."

"Be that as it may," Shepard conceded, trying hard not to let the hot, embarrassed blush that threatened to rise to her cheeks and ears show. "Aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves? We should probably focus on _not dying_ first before we start thinking of asking crewmates to donate samples to the Shepard-Vakarian baby bank."

"I guess you're right," Garrus conceded, nodding in agreement. "I just, you know… wanted you to know that I would be okay with it. And, I understand."

"You're okay with me sleeping with another guy to get pregnant?" Shepard asked, playfully, pressing her hands against his shoulder before standing on her toes to rest her chin against them.

"Well, yeah, I mean," Garrus stammered, flustered. "I assume you'd return to me at the end of the day. And the baby, it… it would be ours, not… y'know…"

"Garrus," Shepard laughed, gently, cutting his discomposure short as she took his clawed hand in both of hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Calm down. I'm just teasing you."

"Right, right," Garrus agreed, relieved, giving a soft, almost inaudible exhale. "It's just, I'm… I just… I don't know. I'm no good at these things, I guess."

"Well, I tell you what," Shepard told him, pressing his hand against her face and offering him a fond, comforting smirk. "If I ever decide I want to have Vega's baby, I'll make sure you're the first to know."

"Much appreciated," Garrus returned, chuckling fondly.

Dropping his hand away from her face, Shepard reached up to take hold of his cowl, pulling him down towards her for a kiss, but before she even had a chance to press her lips to his mouth, EDI's cool voice came on over the intercom, cutting the moment short. "Shepard," she announced, causing both Shepard and Garrus to look up, surprised at the interruption. "I have found something matching our trace of Leviathan on the planet 2181 Despoina. I have triangulated a lock on very near the exact coordinates of the signal's source."

"Fire a probe to the coordinates," Shepard instructed, letting go of Garrus' cowl and letting him return, slowly and disappointedly, to his full, straightened height. Turning her attention back to him, she let out a hefty, thwarted sigh, giving him one last, quick once-over, before propping her hands resolutely on her hips. "Time to suit up and head down," she told him.

"Time to meet Leviathan," he agreed.

* * *

Heavy, torrential rain pounded relentlessly against the exterior of the Kodiak, obscuring the forward-facing window and forcing Cortez to rely almost entirely on the navigation screen built into the dashboard to help him steer as they made their way towards the surface of 2181 Despoina. The rain on the outside of the shuttle sounded to Shepard like an endless barrage of gunfire, setting her teeth on edge and causing her hand to curl and uncurl anxiously at her side as she watched the navigation screen over Cortez' shoulder. She did not want to disturb him, especially while they were flying under such poor conditions, but she did very much want to know how close they were to their destination, and how much longer she would have to deal with the sound of the rain on the exterior of the shuttle before it finally drove her insane.

Most people found the sound of thunderstorms soothing, but for Shepard, they always made her nervous. She guessed it had something to do with being born and raised in space, where the sound of an oncoming, thunderous noise meant something far more ominous than simply a refreshing downpour to water the plants and make the roads slick for travel. She knew it was ridiculous to still hold onto that paranoia, even now that she was older and knew better what she was facing, but she could not help the feeling of dread that clawed at the pit of her stomach every time she heard a thunderclap approaching. "Cortez, what's the status on the probe we launched?" Shepard asked, hoping to break the uncomfortable, rainy silence that had settled over the Kodiak. The shuttle gave a rocking shudder as it hit a particularly strong gust of wind, rattling the crew around and causing Shepard to cling more urgently to the overhead handlebars.

"Tracking it now, Commander," Cortez informed her, deferentially. "I've confirmed that Leviathan's signal originates from this planet." Pausing, he turned, glancing back towards Shepard, before returning his attention to his controls. "I heard how, uh, Anne helped us locate it," he commented, haltingly. "It's pretty… spooky stuff."

"Makes you wonder what we're going to find down there," Garrus put in, worriedly, turning to glance towards Shepard before returning his attention to Liara.

"Bryson's team called it a Reaper killer," Liara added, pensively. "From what we've seen, it doesn't want to be found."

"It doesn't have a choice, we're here," Shepard told her, frowning and turning to face her crew again.

"Right, but then what?" Garrus asked, moving towards her across the Kodiak and taking hold of the overhead handlebar next to hers, rooting himself in place as the shuttle gave another rattle, causing Liara to grip hold of the edge of her bench, alarmed. "It plays pretty rough, and if it is a Reaper, I don't know that that's the kind of help we want."

"Nobody says we have to be friends with it," Shepard told him, reasonably. "But if this thing has the rest of the Reapers worried, then we need its help."

"Commander, new readings from the probe," Cortez called from the front of the Kodiak, causing Shepard to turn back towards him again, attentive. "It's narrowed down Leviathan's location. You're not gonna like it."

"Let's hear it," Shepard prompted, leaning keenly against the back of his chair.

"There's nothing but ocean," Cortez told her, showing her the readings on his navigation screen. "I show a concentration of structures floating on the surface, but the probe's giving us a signal below that. Way below."

"Underwater?" Shepard asked, frowning, taken aback.

"Looks that way," Cortez conceded. "The shuttle should still be able to reach it."

"That's possible?" Shepard asked, perking up in interest as Cortez began to type commands into his navigation console before pulling up a secondary screen and starting to type into that as well.

"Kodiak is spec'd to nearly a thousand atmospheres," Cortez told her, proudly. He paused then, considering a moment, before adding, a bit less confidently, "…though I've never actually tested that."

Suddenly, the Kodiak gave a violent lurch, pushed backwards through the air by an unseen pulse of energy, sending Shepard flying off her feet and back into the carriage of the shuttle. She barely managed to grab hold of one of the overhead handlebars before the Kodiak began to rattle violently, and then to stop completely, coasting to an abrupt halt in midair as its systems simultaneously blacked out, beginning a rapid, nosedive descent towards the watery surface of the planet. "Status!" Shepard insisted, climbing her way back towards the front of the shuttle and holding tightly onto the back of Cortez' chair, rooting herself in place.

"Some kind of pulse hit us!" Cortez reported, shouting over the earsplitting sound of the shuttle in rapid descent. "Systems are shutting down! Brace for impact!" Shepard gripped the back of his chair harder, gritting her teeth as Cortez pushed every button he knew to try to restart the system. Then, after a terrified, breathlessly taut moment, the Kodiak's system screens suddenly started flashing again, its emergency mode finally activating as the thrusters sputtered back online. The shuttle's panicked display screens flashed bright red warnings as the alarms beeped wildly, the shuttle itself coughing with effort as it struggled to stay functional against whatever had knocked out its systems. The Kodiak swooped clumsily out of nosedive, continuing on in an unwieldy, jerking descent towards the first available solid ground as the systems began to quickly burn themselves out in an attempt to re-establish connection with the mainframe.

The Kodiak shrieked against the wind as it peeled out of the sky, throwing Shepard and her crew to the floor as it made solid impact against the surface of one of the barges littered across the planet, crashing into the floating platform with an ear-rending _thud_. The shuttle skidded, metal screeching angrily against metal as it spun out across the slick surface of the barge, finally coming to a heavy, jarring stop against the far end of the structure, rocking once onto its edge before slamming back to the ground again, finally coming to a halt, blessedly right-side-up. Shepard looked up to see Liara crouched over her, looking down at her, worriedly, but she quickly brushed her aside, moving to the door of the shuttle and kicking it until it began to creak open. Prompting her teammates over to help her, Shepard pushed the Kodiak door upward, prying it halfway open before the mechanism jammed again, letting out a protesting spray of sparks to let her know it was not going to budge any more than it already had.

Giving a frustrated huff of breath, Shepard ducked under the doorway, sliding out of the shuttle and landing with a heavy _thump_ against the wet metal surface of the barge. Pushing herself to her feet again, Shepard watched as Garrus and Liara followed suit, untangling themselves from the twisted metal of the Kodiak to join her on the open plain of the barge, looking out over the endless sea as the rain poured down, soaking them. "Everyone all right?" Shepard asked, squinting against the downpour as she gave her crew a quick, checking once-over. Glancing back towards the shuttle again, she made sure Cortez had managed to get out all right as well before turning her attention back to the barge, licking her wet, salty lips anxiously as she looked out over the hopeless landscape.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Garrus answered her question. He rubbed his aching head, letting out a soft, agitated sigh as he looked up at the rainy sky, nonplussed. "Not our best entrance, Shepard."

"How's the shuttle, Cortez?" Shepard asked, ignoring Garrus' comment to turn her attention back to the pilot.

"Checking now," Cortez returned, out of breath. "I'll see if I can get power restored."

"Copy that," Shepard answered, nodding affirmatively.

"Look at all this," Liara observed, stunned, moving over to the edge of the barge to look out over the open sea, where the barest edges of a countless number of wrecked spaceships could be seen jutting out of the choppy surface. "Whatever that pulse was, we're not the first to get hit."

"Could be Leviathan's last line of defence," Shepard suggested, moving up beside her to look out over the watery carnage as well. Just then, the sound of Cortez' defeated panting caused her to turn away again, looking back towards the pilot, hopeful, but Cortez only shook his head, wiping rainwater out of his eyes as he indicated hopelessly towards the Kodiak.

"No luck on the power," Cortez reported. "The whole shuttle's a mess, Commander. That pulse knocked it right out of the air. We're not going anywhere."

"Why not have the Normandy pick us up?" Liara suggested, turning to face Cortez as well.

"Same thing would happen to her," Cortez sighed, propping one hand defeatedly against his hip. "And the landing won't be as pretty. I'd say Leviathan has some sort of defence system in place."

"Then we aren't getting out of here until we find it," Shepard determined, resolutely. "So how do we do that?"

Cortez frowned, turning to look out over the barge, reaching up with one hand to rub thoughtfully at his chin with the pad of his thumb. "Well, you might be able to use a mech," he finally suggested, pointing towards a large containment structure marked Bay 06, where a bevy of heavy mechs could be seen through the bulletproof glass of the broad door, resting dutifully shoulder to shoulder, waiting to be used. "Those look like they should be rigged for diving."

"A… diving mech?" Shepard asked, sceptical, turning to look at him with a faint frown.

"It's a Triton model," Cortez explained, helpfully, holding out an indicative hand. "Military grade. Repurposed for deep-sea exploration. As long as the sea water hasn't corroded it, it should be good to go."

Shepard sighed heavily, crossing her arms as she turned her attention back to the mechs, still not entirely sure she trusted Cortez' assessment. It seemed a little too convenient that this abandoned barge just _happened_ to have functional underwater mechs available, and though Cortez had never failed her in a pinch before, she had no idea how to tell an Atlas and a Triton mech apart, herself, and so had no way of knowing if he actually had any idea what he was talking about. Cortez seemed convinced enough about the mech's underwater functionality, but Shepard also knew that if the mechs ended up being regular models and she tried to drive one underwater, she would likely be dead in a matter of minutes, and everything they had learned about Leviathan up to that point would have been for nothing. "Well, if that's what we have to do, let's get started," she decided, nodding towards the mech enclosure and starting to make her way towards it.

"Hold on a second," Garrus stopped her, reaching forward to take hold of her arm. "Are we actually considering—"

"It's the only way," Shepard cut him off, a bit too sharply, turning to look his way again and pushing her soaking bangs out of her eyes. Garrus hesitated, taken aback, before finally letting go of her arm, allowing her to continue in the direction of the mechs. Shepard followed Cortez to a high step up, letting him help pull her up onto the ledge before they made their way over to the mech enclosure, pushing a button on the far side of the building and causing the heavy glass door to grind open.

"All right, Commander, I'll do a systems check and then you can head on down," Cortez told her, singling out one of the mechs and starting to examine its workings. Shepard nodded, standing by, using one hand to cover her eyes from the steady downpour of rain as she watched Cortez work on the mech, opening up its various compartments to poke around inside, ensuring it was safe enough for her to use at great depths. Hearing the sound of wet footsteps behind her, Shepard turned, glancing back, and saw Garrus and Liara approaching her, both looking worried and miserably wet. Between them, it was harder to tell who looked more concerned, though Garrus seemed to be considerably more effected by the rain. While the precipitation seemed to simply glide off Liara's finely-scaled skin, it pooled awkwardly in Garrus' armoured cowl, forming a shallow puddle around his neck as he cleared his throat to get Shepard's attention, trying hard to ignore his own pending discomfort.

"Listen, Shepard," he told her, fairly, speaking in a low voice so as not to frustrate her more than necessary. "I'm all for crazy ideas, but this one's off the charts."

"We've come too far to stop now," Shepard countered, shaking her head, causing the wet, stringy ends to stick uncomfortably to her face and neck. "The way home is through Leviathan."

"Okay, seals check out, oxygen pressure is nominal, systems are a go," Cortez reported, closing up the last compartment of the mech and dropping back down to the floor of the barge. "It's as ready as I can make it."

"Let's go," Shepard agreed, turning away from her teammates to climb up into the mech. The first step up was a high one, one she would normally have been able to manage with little to no effort at all, but now, even as she braced herself against the first handholds, it seemed to stretch upward forever. Biting hard on her lip, she pulled herself upward, giving a hefty, pained grunt of effort as she lifted her leg towards the first foothold, but, even with all her added effort, she was still barely able to even touch it. Cortez moved forward quickly, offering her a helpful boost, and, with his added help, Shepard managed to pull herself up onto the first foothold. From there it was an easy climb the rest of the way up into the mech, and she let out a heavy, satisfied huff of breath as she settled herself back into the seat, locking the crossing buckles in place before pulling down on the overhead bar and lowering it tightly to her chest. The bar pressed uncomfortably against her tender chest and stomach as she breathed, but she tried to ignore the painful sensation as she reached up towards the controls again, preparing to close the lid of the mech.

"Shepard," Garrus objected again, taking a step forward towards her, pleadingly.

"Garrus, I'll be fine," Shepard assured him, offering him an encouraging half-smile. Then, pushing the button to seal up the mech, she sat back again, her hands curling anxiously around the steering controls at her sides as she let the machine enclose her. "Closing hatch," she reported. "Engaging systems… ready."

"Testing comm link," Cortez conceded, opening up his omni-tool and pulling up a digitized video of her face inside the mech.

"I read you," Shepard confirmed, decisively. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the mech's hefty steering controls, turning the machine towards the edge of the barge before coming to a stop overlooking the dark, ominous open water. "Here goes," she told them, letting her breath out in a long, low exhale. "Commencing dive in 3… 2… 1."


	24. WEEK FOURTEEN, Pt.3

**Author's Note:** Please be aware that this section of the chapter contains some body horror and may not be appropriate for sensitive readers.

* * *

The sounds of the driving rain, the lapping waves, and the creaking of the metal barge were all swallowed away to nothing the instant the Triton mech hit the dark water. It began its descent into the bleak, murky depths in muffled near-silence, the hefty machine sinking steadily downward as what little light filtered in from the melancholy sky began to grow fainter and fainter through the churning surface of the waves. Even so close to the surface, the water was bitter cold, and Shepard quickly found herself having to pass a hand across the foggy inside of the mech's hull in an effort to clear a swath of glass for her to better see where she was going. Vague, hulking forms loomed out at her from the darkness of the ocean depths, undiscernible even with the help of the floodlights beaming out from the Triton. The helpfulness of the light was short-lived, however, as, barely halfway through her descent, the bulb suddenly began to flicker, before blowing out completely, leaving her in total, crushing darkness as the mech continued to sink the rest of the way to the ocean floor.

The reinforced feet of the Triton hit the rocky ocean bottom with a deep, reverberating booming sound, the bulky bearings of the mech causing the nearby ground to shake momentarily under its mass. The shock resistant design of the mech absorbed most of the jarring impact, but it still shook Shepard around a bit in her seat, causing her to grit her teeth against the sudden, unsettling sensation of weight after such a long drop. A cascade of bubbles fizzled up past the cockpit as it settled, flittering into the dark sea above before vanishing into the water again, and Shepard aimed her flare launcher, shooting the first lit beacon into the crevice of a rock formation to her left, illuminating the path ahead a short ways. By the light of the flare, she could just make out the blurry outlines of luminescent jellyfish-type creatures floating serenely some ways away from her, and as she took her first heavy, wary step forward into the light, she bit her lip, watching as the text scrolling jerkily down the projected display screen flickered, giving off sharp, strained noises every time it updated another line.

"Not sure if you can read me up there," Shepard reported, looking around again before taking another uncertain step into the pool of light thrown by the flare. "Looks like I've finished the major descent. Can't see much from here." Turning her head, she looked up at a large, looming wall of seaweed waving ominously over her shoulder, before frowning and taking a small step away from it, not wanting to chance any stray tendrils getting caught in the suit and messing with the controls somehow. "Suit is… holding up," she added, reasonably, turning her attention back towards the path ahead. "Emergency systems have come online. Life support… operational." Satisfied with her initial report, she took another hefty step forward, hearing the jarring sound of the Triton creaking around her as it pushed its way through the pressurized water and along the lighted rock path. As she moved past the illuminated jellyfish, they drifted slowly upward, and now that she could see them up close, she was surprised to realize that they were at least twice the size she had originally thought them to be – giant, hovering, bioluminescent titans, hardly deigning to be bothered despite the large metal construct that was making its bulky way towards them.

"Scanner indicates the probe is below my position," Shepard informed the shore party, hoping she was not merely reporting into dead space as the readings on the screen flickered again, uncertainly. "Looking for a way down." Reaching the edge of a rock outcropping, she craned her neck, peering over into the darkness, but when she could not see all the way to the bottom, she fired a flare into the abyss, watching as it lodged itself snugly into the dirt beside another, smaller rock formation, about twenty feet below her current position. Stepping warily off the edge of the ledge, Shepard allowed her vehicle to freefall steadily downward, landing with a much less jarring thud this time, but her attention was quickly drawn instead to the display screen, which had started to flash and beep, indicating that something needed her attention, though she could not figure out from the display screen what it was. "Shutting down all non-critical systems to preserve remaining power," she said, hoping that would solve the issue, whatever it was. "Not sure how much juice the emergency thruster will need to get me back to the surface. Not worrying about that now."

Just as she had predicted, as soon as she shut off the non-vital systems of the Triton, the beeping instantly stopped, the display screen flickering once before beginning to scroll steadily again, telling her where to go. Shepard turned, making her way past the most recent flare as she looked around to see what she could make out on this newer, lower level of the ocean floor. Firing another flare into the blackness, she continued moving forward down the path, noting the ocean growing dimmer and darker the further she got away from her original access point. "Getting some strange readings from the probe," she reported, looking over to one side to see if something else could have been interfering with the readings, but, seeing nothing, she returned her attention to the path ahead, firing another flare as she moved further on ahead. Reaching the edge of another rock outcropping, she stared out over the yawning dropoff, noting that only one of the giant jellyfish was apparently brave enough to linger at this dim and murky depth. As she stared out over the ledge, the display screen gave another sharp flicker, before the text began to scroll excitedly, notifying her that something had changed.

"Something is definitely down there," Shepard breathed, anxious and intrigued. Firing another flare down into the darkness, she followed it quickly off the ledge, landing with an unsettling _thud_ on the ocean floor below her, causing another stream of bubbles to hiss up past her cockpit before disappearing into the ocean depths. She followed this new string of fired flares to another rock outcropping, but this one seemed to go on much further than any of the others had. Bubbles and odd-looking currents of water that almost looked like steam wafted out of the hole, dissipating into the open ocean as soon as they reached the level of the ledge where Shepard stood, and an eerie blue light emanated from its depths, illuminating the way down far more effectively than any flare. "Reading the probe directly below me," Shepard told the shore party, peering warily over the edge of the precipice. "Looks like the final drop." Then, taking a deep, readying breath, she tilted her steering stick forward, driving the Triton off the edge of the cliff and into the brightly-lit hole below.

The mech drifted slowly downward towards the unusual light, seeming to almost coast on the upward drafts of water as they slid over it, the bubbles dancing past the cockpit on their way towards the edge of the hole. "I can't see anything just yet," Shepard reported, looking around at what appeared to be cavernous rock formations lining the walls. Finally reaching the bottom of the drop, she landed with an unceremonious, rattling thud, the hard rock shaking her up more than any of her previous drops into wet sand had done before. A few feet in front of her, the probe launched from the Normandy flashed steadily red, enticing her innocently from a niche at the edge of the rock pathway. "Found the probe," she told the shore party, straightening up with a grunt and starting towards it. "Seems intact. I'm gonna keep moving." Reaching down, she deactivated the probe's tracking tech, causing it to instantly stop flashing, before turning her attention back towards the far edge of the rock causeway, where she could see another, dimmer light peering out towards her, as well as a few stray bubbles drifting up innocently over the edge of the rocky shelf.

As she got closer, however, the entire cavern seemed to give a heavy, quaking rumble, the ground moving jarringly under her feet, giving off a deep, echoing noise as a much larger cascade of bubbles drifted almost violently upward from over the edge of the rock outcropping. "What is that?" Shepard breathed, feeling her heart begin to race in her chest as she took another wary step forward, edging cautiously over towards the edge of the cliff. Her vigilant steps became smaller and smaller the closer she came to the ledge, until finally she found herself standing almost at the edge of the rock walkway, peering down into the abyss below. At first, she saw nothing, but then, feeling the rock structure around her begin to shudder violently again, she looked up, watching in fascinated terror as what looked to be two goliath horns or pincers – it was nearly impossible to tell at this scale – came rumbling up past the side of the cliff, followed by an immense, prehistoric-looking creature. Its scorpionesque scales glinted in the eerie, dull blue glow of the cavern as it rose to its full, impressive height, towering over Shepard as it raised its enormous clawed legs, effortlessly dwarfing her, even in the Triton mech.

" _You have come too far,_ " the creature rumbled, its deep, reverberating voice echoing inside of her head as well as all around her. Suddenly, in a flash of light, Shepard found herself standing in an unfamiliar setting, an immense, open dreamscape that seemed to go on forever in every direction. When she looked down, she saw that she was standing on what looked to be a glass floor pressed flat to the surface of the ocean, almost as if she were walking upside down under the waves. Bits and pieces of what seemed to be ash debris floated weightlessly around her, drifting on a nonexistant breeze, almost as if they had a mind of their own. She took a breath in, shocked to be breathing oxygen, before the vision suddenly vanished and she found herself once more inside the Triton mech, facing off against the colossal antediluvian creature. Shaking her head to clear it, she set her expression, her brow furrowing as she stared the titan down, gripping tightly to the controls of her mech as she braced herself for confrontation.

"I had to find you," Shepard told the creature. This had to be the Leviathan, she figured, pursing her lips – there was nothing else that something that looked like this and had this kind of power could possibly be.

" _This is not your domain,_ " the Leviathan told her, floating easily above her as it stared her down with its six enormous, glowing blue eyes. " _You have breached the darkness._ "

"You killed a Reaper," Shepard insisted. "I need to know why."

" _They are the enemy,_ " the Leviathan answered, simply. " _One that seeks our extermination._ "

There was another flash of light, and Shepard found herself back in the dreamscape, only this time, she was on the cool, glassy floor on her hands and knees. Her entire body ached, as if she had just been through the fight of her life, and she found that she could not even gather the strength to get up off her knees. Before she could have a chance to do anything, however, she found herself back in the mech once more, looking up at Leviathan again, now thoroughly confused. "But… I thought you were a… Reaper?" she asked, haltingly, still feeling the lingering ache of the dreamscape, though she had no idea why, or what could have caused her to hurt that way.

" _They are only echoes,_ " the Leviathan told her, seeming almost annoyed at the question. " _We existed long before._ "

"Then what _are_ you?" Shepard insisted, determinedly.

" _Something more,_ " the Leviathan answered, its voice dragging as it buzzed in her head. The buzzing grew more and more intense, deeper and louder, seeming almost to shake her from her seat, her head feeling as though she were being thrown around in a hurricane, though she was sitting perfectly still. Then, almost as suddenly as it had started, the buzzing and shaking stopped, and she found herself in the dreamscape once more, coughing harshly as she sought to catch her breath, dragged unexpectedly from her state of being into this new, unsettling plane. Looking up, she could blearily make out the shape of two legs moving towards her, and as her vision began to clear, she could see that the legs were attached to a body, and the body to a familiar face. "Your mind belongs to me," the visitor told her, speaking unnervingly in Leviathan's voice, though their mouth moved in perfect unison with the words. " _Breathe._ "

"Anne?" Shepard asked, taken aback, pushing herself with some difficulty to her feet as she stood off against the willowy Doctor Bryson. "What's happening?"

Bryson stared at her, her murky-grey eyes blank and black, devoid of any of the muted warmth they had held when Shepard had worked with her on the surface. "Your memories give voice to our words," she answered, speaking again in Leviathan's voice as she tapped her temple indicatively with her finger. "Your nature will be revealed to us. We know everything there is to know about you. More than you know about yourself. Accept this."

"The galaxy is at war with the Reapers," Shepard insisted, shaking her head, still not understanding. She had no idea if she were speaking to Bryson or Leviathan, but she had a feeling, as with the creature's attempts to communicate through the artefacts, that the one doing the speaking was just a vessel, while the conscience that provided the voice was still very much Leviathan. "You defeated one – why aren't you fighting back?"

"There is no war," Leviathan returned, as Anne shook her head, turning away from Shepard. "There is only the Harvest."

"Then help us to stop it," Shepard insisted, watching as Bryson began to walk away, before she abruptly faded into the bleak, ashen air, leaving nothing behind. Suddenly, the same voice spoke up from Shepard's other side, causing her to turn quickly, this time to see Garrett Bryson's assistant, Hadley, walking towards her across the eerie dreamscape.

"No man possessed the strength in past cycles," Leviathan told her as Hadley moved past her, heading towards a lab station that had not been there mere seconds earlier. "Your own species could be destroyed with a single thought." Peering down into the microscope, he paused, considering something, before lifting his head and turning to look back at her again, and this time, when he turned, it was to reveal that he had somehow become Garneau. "But you… are different," Leviathan went on, as Garneau observed her, curiously, slitting his dark-ringed eyes as he watched her, waiting for a reaction. "I have witnessed your actions in this cycle. The destruction of Sovereign… the fall of the Collectors… the Reapers perceive you as a threat…" Garneau turned back towards his lab table, shifting suddenly back into Anne Bryson as he did so, too quick for Shepard to catch the transition. "…And I must understand why."

With another, sudden flash, Shepard found herself back in the mech again, feeling an odd, warm sensation begin to trickle down her upper lip. Raising a hand, she dabbed at her nose, drawing back her hand to realize that her nose was bleeding heavily. Before she had a chance to react, however, she suddenly found herself back in the dreamscape, back on her knees once more, her armoured hand clean, her upper lip perfectly dry. Looking over, she saw Hadley sitting next to her, staring up at something before them, and, turning to see what it was, she found herself staring up at the painted rock wall from Bryson's archaeological site. "Before the cycles, our Kind was the apex of life in the galaxy," Leviathan told her as Hadley's blank, black eyes searched the painting, almost longingly. "The lesser species were in our thrall, serving our needs. We grew more powerful and they were cared for. But we could not protect them from themselves. Over time, the species built machines that then destroyed them. Tribute does not flow from a dead race."

Hadley turned away from the painting, pushing himself to his feet, and Shepard was quick to follow suit, only to find herself talking to Bryson once again. "To solve this problem, we created an Intelligence with a mandate to preserve life at any cost," Leviathan explained as Bryson turned away from Shepard, heading away across the dreamscape with Shepard in stubborn, curious pursuit. "As the Intelligence evolved, it studied the development of civilizations. Its understanding grew until it found a solution." Bryson suddenly stopped, and as soon as she came to a halt, she changed again, this time into Garneau. "In that instant, it betrayed us," Leviathan went on as Garneau hung his head, sadly. "It chose our kind as the first Harvest. From our essence, the first Reaper was created." Turning to look at Shepard now, Garneau raised his brows. "You call it… Harbinger," Leviathan finished, tellingly.

"You built that machine despite what you saw the other races experience?" Shepard asked, frowning as she stared the dead-eyed scientist down. "Why?"

"You cannot conceive of a galaxy that bends to your will," Leviathan, now Hadley, answered, looking up and causing Shepard to look up as well, only to find that a large, glowing galaxy model now hung composedly over their heads. "Every creature… every nation… every planet we discovered become our tools. We were above the concerns of lesser species. The Intelligence was envisioned as simply another tool."

"And now we all pay the price for your mistake," Shepard pointed out, nonplussed.

"There was no mistake," Leviathan returned, inflexibly. "It still serves its purpose."

"But what's the point of all these Harvests?" Shepard insisted, getting frustrated with the entity's seemingly backwards logic.

"The Intelligence has one purpose: preservation of life," the Leviathan answered, candidly, returning to Bryson's form as it spoke. "That purpose is not being fulfilled. It directed the Reapers to create the Mass Relays, to speed the time between Cycles for greatest efficiency. The galaxy itself became an experiment… evolution its tool."

"So you mean to tell me that the Reapers created the Mass Relays so that each evolutionary cycle would more quickly reach the point where they decided it was the most beneficial to Harvest us?" Shepard asked, trying to figure out Leviathan's reasoning, though somehow it only seemed to become more and more difficult to understand the more it tried to explain itself. "They set us up to be killed? They afforded us the tools to evolve, and in doing so tricked us into destroying ourselves and our galaxy so that they would appear justified in killing us in accordance with this Intelligence you created?"

"The Intelligence seeks to preserve only that life which it deems beneficial to our continued existence," Leviathan explained, shifting back to Hadley now, seeming completely at peace with its justification. "Only those with the intelligence achieved by a fully evolved species are of any benefit to us. But with that evolutionary achievement comes the inevitability of outlasting their usefulness and becoming destructive instead." Moving around Shepard, Hadley came out the other side as Garneau, pacing once before stopping in front of her again, his hands folded thoughtfully behind his back. "The Intelligence preserves the species while their usefulness persists," Leviathan added, as Garneau lifted his chin, practically. "The Reapers ensure that there will always remain a galaxy for more species to evolve into usefulness."

"So it's a self-fulfilling prophecy," Shepard translated, her brow furrowing even deeper as she stared at Garneau, disgusted. "You build us up just so you can cut us down. You give us no warning and then punish us for our ignorance."

"You are not being punished," Leviathan corrected, calmly, as Garneau shook his head. "The Reapers are only doing what they believe to be necessary to fulfil the directives of the Intelligence."

"Will it ever end?" Shepard asked, tiring quickly of the roundabout conversation.

"Unknown," Leviathan answered, honestly, returning to Bryson's form again. "Until the intelligence finds what it's looking for, the Harvest will continue."

"Okay, you've made your point," Shepard sighed, frustrated. "Will you help stop this Cycle?"

Bryson stared at her, dead-eyed, considering her for a long moment. "I have searched your mind," Leviathan finally answered as Bryson narrowed her eyes at Shepard, observant. "You are an anomaly, yet that is not enough." Turning away from Shepard then, she began to walk away again, heading towards the endless expanse of the dreamscape.

"Wait—" Shepard stopped her, reaching out to clasp a hand down on her shoulder. Bryson felt ice cold to the touch, and there was something tough and inhuman about the rigidity of her skin underneath the material of her lab coat.

"The Cycle will continue," Leviathan assured her as Bryson turned to look at Shepard again, her expression blank.

"No," Shepard insisted, shaking her head, standing her ground. "You've been watching. You know this Cycle is different!"

"We will survive," Leviathan returned, unaffected. "You will remain here as a servant of our means. The Reapers will Harvest the rest."

"If you release me, no one has to be Harvested," Shepard contended, speaking slowly and authoritatively, hoping to persuade the entity against its own better judgement.

"Nothing will change," Leviathan told her, as Bryson shook her head, unconvinced. "If we release you, you will be lost to the galaxy, fighting your futile war. Like everything else, you too will inevitably fall victim to the Harvest. Keeping you here ensures your continued usefulness. To us… to everything."

"What are you talking about?" Shepard asked, feeling a cold, sinking sensation beginning to build in her gut at the vaguely ominous overture.

"Evolution of the species only ever goes so far before it comes to an apex and stops," Leviathan explained, matter-of-factly, as Bryson turned to face Shepard, head-on. "Your species has reached that apex. So have many others. But you represent an evolutionary link that has never been a part of the equation before. The literal joining of the species. A superevolution beyond the realm of mere evolutionary mutation."

"No," Shepard insisted, taking an alarmed step back, realizing with a sickening twist of her gut what the Leviathan was talking about.

"You will remain here," Leviathan insisted, and as Bryson stepped forward, following Shepard's step back, she suddenly shifted to Garneau again. "If we release you to your own devices, you cannot be trusted to continue on in our best interest… in the interest of the continued preservation of life… the continued evolution of the species. Here, you will face no such uncertainty. You will usher in a new evolutionary epoch. The Cycle will continue, but you will be safe here."

"NO!" Shepard shouted, more adamant now, baring her teeth defensively. "I will not stay here as some kind of… of… science experiment…!"

"You have no choice," Leviathan told her, as Garneau shook his head. "You cannot be trusted to return. Your only true usefulness is here, with us. How do you believe you can be trusted to decide the fate of the galaxy when you cannot even decide your own fate?"

Feeling a sudden, unexpected weight lift from her shoulders, Shepard looked down, realizing that she was no longer in her heavy-duty armour, but instead her military dress blues. The carefully-fitted front of her jacket pouched visibly outward with her distended stomach, and she quickly smoothed a hand over it, as if expecting that to do something to hide it. Instead, she watched in horror as the front of her uniform began to slowly billow further outward, the clasps of the jacket straining as they fought to contain whatever was growing underneath her shirt. Panicking, Shepard began to quickly unbutton her dress jacket, all but tearing it off her form as she tossed it off to one side, and when she looked down again, she was horrified to realize that the thing that had been growing underneath her uniform had actually been _her_. Letting out a choked, mortified sob, her hands instantly flew to her face, covering her eyes from the sight of what seemed to be the final stages of a long-overdue pregnancy, feeling a cold, throbbing pain run up her spine as her excruciating, distended, vein-coated stomach protruded grotesquely out in front of her, looking all but ready to explode.

"What are you _doing?!_ " she demanded, her voice cracking, indignant, as she drew her hands away from her eyes. Her breath shuddered harshly in her chest as two terrified tears skated down her cheeks, but she did not even try to stop them. "Why are you doing this to me?!" she shouted. "Why can't you just _let me go_?!"

"We cannot risk letting you go," Leviathan answered, causing Shepard to turn towards the source of the voice. This time the projection was of Mordin, holding the same datapad he had been holding when he had first informed her of her pregnancy. Shepard frowned, startled and frightened by the Leviathan's ability to probe so deeply into her memory, and took a wary step back from the uncanny non-Mordin. Mordin looked up at her, his umber eyes flat and lifeless as a tiny, thin trickle of dark-green blood began to meander down the side of his face. "You came to us for help," Leviathan pointed out as the trickle of blood began to strengthen, slowly becoming more of a steady flow. "You wished us to help you to combat the Reapers. To stop the Harvest. To save this Cycle. This Cycle is beyond saving, but the next one still has hope. And your evolutionary contribution will be at the heart of it." As Leviathan spoke, the stream of blood running down Mordin's face intensified again, the half-horn on his right side beginning to crack at the base, slowly starting to lean to one side, before finally falling off entirely and clattering to the floor at his feet in a sickening splash of dark-green blood.

Blood gushed from the top of his head, streaking in slick cascades down his face, his neck, staining his white lab coat, but he did not even flinch as he took a step forward towards her, trailing green bloody footprints in his wake. "This is the help we have deemed in your best interest," Leviathan informed her, matter-of-factly, as Mordin took another blood-soaked step forward towards her, causing her to take another step back in return. "You wish to save the galaxy. Instead, you will project it into its next Renaissance." This time, Shepard heard a sickening _crack_ , and as she watched, Mordin's arm began to slowly slump out of his sleeve, as if it had dislocated at the shoulder, before finally sliding out of his lab coat completely and landing on the floor of the dreamscape with a wet, bloody _thunk_. "This is the path we have chosen for you," the Leviathan told her, ominously. "This is the path you must take. There is no other way."

"You're wrong!" Shepard insisted, taking another terrified step back. "You're _wrong_!"

Her insistent voice echoed in the emptiness of the dreamscape, reverberating off the unseen walls of her seemingly endless enclosure. Shepard squeezed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth as another wave of angry, frightened tears made their way down her face, and when she opened them again, Mordin was gone. Taking a sharp, shuddering breath, she turned, looking around, but could see no sign of the salarian, or any other projections. Even the pool of green blood where Mordin had been standing had disappeared, leaving nothing but pristine, medical cleanliness in its wake. Looking down at her still-distended stomach, she drew in a deep, shuddering breath, swallowing back hard, trying to calm herself, before tentatively reaching down a hand towards her visibly pulsating abdomen. Her fingertips barely brushed against it, causing her to give a visceral shudder, but she braced herself, taking a deep breath and gathering up her courage, before touching her full hand to the skin, sliding it down underneath the fleshy underside to feel the full extent of her gruesome, distended stomach.

Shepard felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as the sensation registered, as if this nightmarish _thing_ in front of her were really a part of her conscious being, and, quickly pulling her hand away, she let it hover uncertainly beside her for a moment, too unnerved to try again. Finally, she reached cautiously down towards her stomach again, moving her hand uncertainly over the top of her dome-like abdomen instead, but this time, rather than the mere unsettling feeling that this monstrosity was a _part_ of her, she felt a sudden, new, unexpected sensation, as if an unanticipated pressure was pushing back against the hand running down her stomach from the other side of the skin – from _inside_ of her. Looking down, she moved her hand away from her stomach in time to see the clear outline of a large, clawed handprint – at least twice the size of her own hand – indented against the wall of the flesh from the inside of her womb. The clawed hand pressed up against the top of her stomach, clearly visible for a good few seconds, before sliding slowly downward towards her navel and disappearing again around the curve of her flesh.

At the sight of this, Shepard let out a high, sharp, strangled scream, feeling suddenly physically ill, her mind racing as she tried to figure out if her body wanted her to cry or vomit, though she felt that one might simply end up leading to the other. "What is this?!" she demanded, turning her attention upward again, shouting fruitlessly for the Leviathan. She knew she was still inside her own head, and so could not actually see the creature she was addressing, but she was too panicked, traumatized, and angry to think with any semblance of logic right now. "What the hell is this?!" she shouted. "What are you trying to say?! What are you _doing_ to me?!"

"I have done nothing to you," Leviathan answered, calmly, and Shepard turned quickly on her heel to see Joker washing his hands at what appeared to be a tiny sanitation station behind her. Picking up a medical mask from beside the sink, he strapped it on behind his ears, next pulling on a pair of medical latex gloves, before turning his gaze up towards her, expectantly. This Joker's eyes were dead, black, and cold, nothing like the kind green eyes she knew him to have in reality, and as he took a keen step forward towards her, she took a similar, wary step back in return. "It is only what you have done to yourself," Leviathan went on. "You are far too eager to lay the blame for your indecisiveness and predicaments on others. Perhaps you should start looking inward for why you continue to harbour feelings of resentment and failure."

"I…" Shepard started to argue, but found she had nothing to say in return. His words rang too eerily true for her to ignore, and she found herself frozen in place, hypnotized by her own rapt terror.

"You struggle to find purpose," Leviathan told her, the projected image flickering eerily between Joker and Miranda before finally settling on Joker again. "You yearn for meaning. Meaning is inflicted upon you by others, but you resent it. You want to be your own person, make your own mark on history. Not just the marks others have carved out for you to fit into."

"Stop it," Shepard insisted, her voice starting to shake again as another pair of hot, angry, terrified tears skated down her face.

"You consider yourself meaningless," Leviathan went on, doggedly, ignoring her frightened demand. "Hollow. Blindly worshipped against your wishes."

" _Stop it_ ," Shepard demanded, louder this time, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

"You don't think you deserve the praise you receive," Leviathan told her, as Joker began to move towards her, pulling a scalpel from the pocket of his Alliance uniform and holding it up, ready to use it. "You search for significance, blinded by the superficial brilliance of your own reputation. We will give you that meaning. We will give you that purpose."

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" Shepard shouted, taking a step forward and driving her fist through the face of the projection-Joker, only to have it go straight through, the projection vanishing the instant her hand made contact. Spinning on her heel, Shepard breathed heavily, looking around wildly for any sign of the Leviathan, but, seeing nothing, she relaxed a bit, allowing her hand to come unclenched, hardly even noticing the deep, red nail-marks that had been pressed into the raw, pink skin of her palms. Letting her hand fall subconsciously back to her grotesquely distended stomach, she moved it distractedly along the flesh, following the path the horrifying handprint had taken, almost as if hoping to find it again. When she reached the point where it had disappeared, however, she felt her entire body go suddenly numb with fear as her fingers slid unconsciously inside what felt like a ragged, gaping hole at the base of her stomach, just out of sight over the red, vein-ridden, swollen flesh of the top.

Pieces and chunks of mangled flesh dangled from the edges of the hole on ravaged, stringy strips of skin, as if something had viciously ripped her open from the inside, leaving nothing in its wake but an enormous, yawning wasteland. As her numb fingers worked cautiously around this new, macabre development, Shepard quickly realized that the inside of her distended stomach was now hollow, like a fleshy reptile egg left behind after the creature had hatched. Moving her hands blindly further inside, she felt the sick, wet sensation of one of her intestines slopping out from inside her hollowed-out gut to dangle sickeningly against her leg, dribbling bile down her already blood-soaked dress pants. With nothing now holding them inside of her, Shepard could feel the spongy, slimy sensation as all the rest of her internal organs began to slowly spill outward over the edge of her ruined gut as well, and she desperately clutched instinctively at her stomach, attempting to grab them all up and push them back inside of her, to little avail. No matter how many times she grabbed them and pushed them back inside, there always seemed to be more, many more than she felt could possibly be anatomically correct, and despite her best efforts to keep them inside, they just kept spilling back out again.

"STOP IT!" Shepard screamed, bending double as she desperately tried to keep her slippery organs inside her body. "STOP THIS! YOU CAN'T KEEP ME HERE! LET GO OF ME, YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO!"

"You refuse to see the truth," Leviathan returned, solemnly, and when Shepard looked up, she found herself staring into the face of Miranda Lawson, who crouched uncomfortably close, staring into her face with unblinking, lidless eyes. "You exist in a continuum, not a vacuum. Your actions will have consequences. You will change the world, whether you mean to or not."

"I don't want to change the world," Shepard breathed, huffing a soft, dry sob as a loop of her intestine slipped out of her hands, dropping to the floor with a wet, heavy _slop_ , spattering her with blood. "I just want the Reapers to leave, I just… I just want to _live_ …"

"If you do not stay, you will be harvested like all the rest," Leviathan told her, curtly, as Miranda reached forward, grabbing hold of her intestine and giving a harsh yank, forcing her to pay attention. "Out there, you can change nothing. Here, with us, we are giving you the chance to change _everything_ – for the better. To use your unique circumstances for the betterment of the galaxy. To forgo the Harvest and look ahead. To change the face of the future."

"I don't want to change the face of the future!" Shepard shouted back, getting angrier and angrier with each word. "Let me GO!" Grabbing hold of the other end of the intestine Miranda held, she jerked it back, pulling it from Miranda's grasp. As she did so, the length of intestine vanished from her hands, and when she looked down, she found that her body gone back to normal, and she was back in her armour again. Looking up at Miranda again, she watched as the projection flickered once more, this time alternating between Miranda and Liara like a vidscreen on the fritz. Both looked gaunt, grey-faced, their normally blue eyes filled in with soulless black as they stared at her, unblinking, seeming to slowly wither before her very eyes.

"Your selfishness would not go unpunished," Leviathan warned her, stopping its flickering on Liara, who stared at Shepard with cold, black, lifeless eyes, the same eyes she had seen from Morinth right before the Ardat-Yakshi had tried to kill her. "By refusing to help us, you refuse to help yourself. Your Cycle. Future Cycles. It all amounts to nothing. You have the power to change the galaxy, yet you wish only to consider your own wants. Your own ambitions."

"Let… me… go," Shepard hissed, glaring at Liara, her voice shaking with anger as she bared her teeth, feeling two more hot, indignant tears slide down her cheeks. "The Reapers know where you are. You can't just watch anymore. You have to fight! Even if you survive the battle today, the Reapers won't stop – _ever_!" Taking another deep, rattling breath, she shook her head, wetting her cracked, salty lips. "Release me and we have a chance to end this," she told Leviathan, determinedly. " _Once and for all._ "

Liara stared back at her, indifferently, unblinking, letting the moment of silence stretch out indefinitely, razor-thin and cold as ice in the unnatural dreamscape. Just then, the eerily distorted sound of a baby crying caught her attention, and Shepard looked up, startled, before turning back to where Liara had been standing only a moment earlier, only to find that she had disappeared, just like the other projections. Shepard looked around, expecting another figure to manifest, but saw nothing, only the sound of distorted crying reaching her ears again. She spun around, looking for the source of the noise, before suddenly spotting something several feet away across the bizarre, watery surface. A baby bed sat alone in the dreamscape, swaying gently back and forth on its rockers despite no wind and no one there to drive it. Shepard approached the cradle tentatively, standing back a few feet from it, listening as the odd, skin-chilling sound of the distorted baby's cry repeated itself again, this time louder, clearly coming from inside the crib.

Moving cautiously closer to the source of the noise, Shepard peered over the edge of the cradle, looking inside for the baby, but saw only a nursery-patterned blanket draped over what appeared to be the form of a sleeping child. Reaching warily forward, she hesitated, her hand lingering just above the cradle, before finally taking hold of the blanket and pulling it off to reveal what was waiting underneath. As soon as she did, the dreamscape was instantly shattered with the ear-splitting sound of a Reaper foghorn, and the seemingly solid form under the blanket quickly collapsed into a pool of blood, gushing between the slats in the cradle and onto the floor, filling the floor with more blood than could possibly have been contained in a cradle so small. Shepard jumped backwards away from the cradle, dropping the blanket as her heavy armoured boots splashed sickeningly against the floor, watching as it began to turn from glassy, mirrored water to deep red blood.

The sound of the baby's crying became louder and more distorted, turning quickly from something eerie into something downright horrific, mingling with the sound of the Reaper horn in a deafening sensory overload. Shepard covered her head with her hands, pressing them against her ears as tightly as she could and squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to block the chaos out, but to no avail. The noise was too loud to suppress, the pool of blood lapping dizzyingly against her ankles as it began to slowly rise higher and higher, pulling her down into it. "STOP IT!" she screamed, doubling over on herself as she fought to remain standing despite the hammering she was getting from every direction. "STOP IT! YOU'RE WRONG! I'M A _GOOD_ MOTHER! LET ME GO! _LET ME GO!_ "

"You'll never be a _proper_ mother."

The voice that spoke was a child's voice, too hauntingly familiar for Shepard to ignore, and she quickly looked up again, her eyes wide with terror. As soon as she did so, everything vanished – the crib, the blood, the Reaper horn, all of them gone, leaving her in ringing, solitary silence once more. The change was jarring, unsettling to her senses, and so sudden that she almost felt sick to her stomach, but she gritted her teeth, looking around for the source of the voice. Turning her head, she found herself suddenly face-to-face with the one who had spoken, and for a moment, she could only stare in mixed shock and horror at the little boy from Earth, who stared just as evenly back, his expression unmoving as he stood casually in front of her with his hands in the pockets of his worn grey hoodie. Every detail about him was perfect, just the way she remembered him being when she had tried to help him escape from the air vent just moments before his untimely death at the hands of the Reapers.

"You know you won't," the boy suddenly added, self-assured, seeming not even to notice how completely haggard and surprised Shepard looked to see him. "How do you expect to take care of a child when you can barely take care of yourself?" The child stared at her, continuing to stand eerily in place, his light-blue eyes blank and expressionless as he offered her a chilling, emotionless smile. When she took a step closer, looking deeper into his face, she realized that the pupils were completely missing from his eyes, leaving him with an unnatural, almost doll-like appearance. He continued to smile at her, his smile chilling and detached, as if it were the sentiment of someone else entirely. "You'll never be a proper mother," he repeated, his voice beginning to warp, like the sound of a music box that had been submerged in water for too long. "You know you won't. How do you expect to take care of a child when you can barely take care of yourself?"

"Stop saying that," Shepard insisted, reaching forward to grab hold of the spectral child and give him a hard, desperate shake. "Do you hear me? Stop saying that – _STOP SAYING THAT!_ "

"You'll never be a proper mother," the boy repeated, unperturbed by her shaking, his voice distorting even more violently now, the pitch sinking lower and lower. As she continued shaking him, the skin on his face began to slowly droop, the flesh around his eyes sliding steadily downward as the smiling edges of his mouth began to invert, until finally his entire face appeared to be melting off, sinking further downward until the useless flesh hung soggily from the base of his chin. This did not stop the warped voice from repeating the same disconcerting message over and over again, reverberating all around her, getting inside her head. "You know you won't," the boy continued, his voice now almost as deep as Harbinger's had been. "How do you expect to take care of a child—"

" _STOP SAYING THAT!_ " Shepard shrieked, hot, angry, terrified tears running down her face as she reached up, grabbing hold of either side of the child's head and giving him a good, hearty shake. As she did so, the skin of his face ripped off in her grasp, leaving her holding a hollow, spectral mask of flesh in the image of the little boy from Earth. Staring at the gory thing between her hands, she felt a gush of bile surge up, and before she could stop herself, she bent over to one side, emptying her stomach onto the dreamscape floor. When she looked up again, the little boy was still standing before her, but in the place where his face had been there now sat instead the leering, skeletal mask of a Brute, its glowing, pupilless eyes staring out at her as a low, growling drone reverberated from within. As she watched, the child began to grow, his entire body expanding steadily outward as his clothes ripped away from his form, falling in useless tatters on the ground, until finally the little boy was no more, and Shepard instead found herself face-to-face with the Brute from her nightmare.

"No," she breathed, the fleshy mask falling out of her numb fingers and onto the ground at her feet. "No… _no_ …"

"WHAT'S THE MATTER, MOTHER?" the Brute hissed, its voice a chilling, guttural growl as its long, wire-laden, vertebral neck snaked out towards her, rattling as it went. "DON'T YOU RECOGNIZE _YOUR OWN SON?_ "

"YOU'RE NOT MY SON!" Shepard screamed. Reaching forward, she grabbed hold of the Brute's long, metal-plated neck, yanking it forward and giving it a sharp twist under her arm before ramming her knee sharply upward into the vertebrae. The creature gave a shrill, ear-shattering electronic shriek as the plated bones of its neck began to crack under the pressure, and then to tear, the hefty wires entwined in the bonework giving off a low, loud electrical noise of protest as a shower of sparks cascaded out from the torn cabling. A sick, organic-looking grey plasma dribbled from a tube in the Brute's now-severed neck onto the floor, but the eyes of the skull in Shepard's hands did not flicker out, remaining the same frightening, glowing blue as they stared back at her from her own grasp. Letting out another wordless, feral scream of anger, Shepard threw the skull and vertebral neck to one side, turning her attention back to the rest of the Brute as it continued to tower menacingly in front of her.

"YOU'RE NOT MY SON!" she repeated, driving a biotic fist so hard into the creature's metal-plated chest that it shattered its core display, causing all of her knuckles to split, but she hardly seemed to notice as she did it again, and again, and again. Grabbing hold of the Brute's exposed cable intestines, she began to rip them out, two at a time, screaming wordlessly as the tubes began to spray and spark in protest, splattering her with the same grotesque, grey organic material as before, burning her cheeks as the hot sparks flew into her face. "YOU ARE NOT MY CHILD!" she told the creature, hot, angry tears beginning to stream down her face again as she seized hold of its smaller, less threatening arm. Bracing a foot against the creature's strong thigh, she twisted the arm until the cabling let out a loud, whining screech, straining and then breaking apart, spewing out a cascade of yellow-hot sparks before beginning to dribble the same grey organic plasma onto the floor and Shepard.

She was screaming without even meaning to now, so deafened to her own noise that she hardly heard herself as she reached up to grasp hold of the Brute's exposed spines, her fists glowing blue as she strained, and then ripped them both off, causing the creature to give another painful shriek as the shards of bone clattered to the dreamscape floor. Shepard screamed again, louder this time, drowning out the sound of the creature, before seizing hold of the Brute's enormous, claw-like other arm and beginning to pull. The Brute did not budge, merely standing in place as she endeavoured to rip its limb from its body, and, with one last, overwhelming burst of biotic energy, Shepard successfully tore the metal arm away from the rest of the Brute, watching with satisfaction as grey liquid sprayed from the open wound in violent, disgorging spurts, causing the beast to let out a resounding, agonizing scream.

Gritting her teeth, Shepard bared her fist again, blue with biotic energy, before driving it straight through the creature's core display. Then, reaching inside its chest, she ripped out its black and blue, rotten, still-beating heart, holding it victoriously over her head as the now-ruined Brute fell to its knees, and then collapsed to one side, utterly destroyed. Thick, black bile oozed down her hand from the ravaged heart, the musculature deteriorated almost to unrecognizability, patched together with blue-and-silver wires and connected by monitor lights. Finally, completely drained, she let her hand fall back to her side, the Brute's heart rolling out of her numb, exhausted grasp and falling to the floor with a wet _splat_ , the ruined, spongy muscle splattering like rotten fruit as soon as it hit the ground. Shepard was quick to follow, falling gracelessly to her knees, her legs collapsing unceremoniously under her as she stared in horrified triumph at the mess she had made.

"Your confidence is… singular," Leviathan observed, sounding almost surprised by this revelation. Shepard looked up, still panting, drained, her vision wavering with exhaustion as it came to settle on the newest projection, this time of Javik. The Prothean came to stand in front of the detached skull and neck of the Brute, seeming bored, almost disinterested as he stared down at the gruesome spoil.

"I've earned it," Shepard told him, out of breath, pushing her sweaty bangs heavy-handedly out of her eyes. "Out there fighting! Where you should be!"

"It is clear why the Reapers perceive you as a threat," Leviathan returned as Javik bent down, picking up the skull to take a closer look, seeming almost indifferent to it as he stared into the still-glowing blue eyes. The vertebrae still attached to it rattled along the floor as he picked it up, causing an involuntary shiver to run down Shepard's spine at the sound. "Your victories are more than a product of chance."

Another flash of light, and Shepard found herself back in the Triton, her eyelids almost unfathomably heavy as she sat, slumped against the side of her seat, the belts and harness holding her into the mech the only things keeping her from tipping over completely. A deep, unearthly rumbling sound came from somewhere before her, somewhere inside the black abyss of the pit where the Leviathan still hovered, and, as she watched through half-lidded, heavy eyes, she saw as two more creatures just like the first began to slowly rise up from the chasm to join the first one. All three Leviathan creatures stared down at her, menacing and enormous, the otherworldly rumbling growing louder and louder as they stared at her together, judging her. Then, just as suddenly as she found herself outside of the dreamscape, she was back inside it again, still sitting on the floor where she had fallen, though all trace of the Brute she had defeated had disappeared, leaving the dreamscape pristine and empty again. Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, she turned her head in time to see Hadley walking up behind her, his expression set, looking almost disdainful of her as he approached.

"We will fight," Leviathan told her as Hadley came to stand beside her, looking down at her, steely-faced. "But not for you. Or any other, lesser race. We were first… the Apex Race. We will survive." Turning away from Shepard again, Hadley walked away, vanishing, only to walk up behind Shepard again, as Bryson this time. "The Reapers who trespass on this world will understand our power," Leviathan added as Bryson turned her attention to Shepard now, her normally pleasant face dark with the same cold disdain that had painted Hadley's face before her. "They will become our slaves. Today… they pay their tribute in blood." Bryson paused then, looking away from Shepard, lifting her gaze and taking a deep breath, before suddenly reverting back to Javik on the exhale. "It is apparent why you are revered," the Leviathan continued, addressing Shepard directly now, despite Javik's four cold yellow eyes still staring off somewhere past her shoulder, unaffected. "Those who follow you would be nothing without you to lead them… to spearhead your cause. Their confidence is well-placed. However, that which you carry is too precious to be lost as simply another casualty of war."

The projection changed again, and this time, when Shepard looked up, it was to find herself staring into the unnervingly familiar face of Garrus Vakarian. He crouched down in front of her, staring at her, his expression firm, frighteningly so, and though she knew it to be merely a projection and not the real thing, the sight of him looking at her in such a way, almost as if she were a commodity instead of a living person, still disturbed her more than she could explain. "You may return to your war, Shepard," Leviathan told her, solemnly, speaking again through the mouth of the projection. Then, reaching forward towards her, Garrus placed his hands on her thighs, causing her to give a startled, gasping shudder at the unfamiliar, almost inhumanly heavy weight of his hands against her armour, pinning her to the floor of the dreamscape. "…But you must leave what you carry behind," Leviathan finished, ominously.

Frantic, screaming panic shot through Shepard at these words, and she woke up suddenly in the Triton again with a sharp jolt, forcing her way out of the dreamscape in sheer terror. Her nose still bled profusely, the stream much more pronounced than it had been the last time she had woken up, but then, feeling another wet sensation, she looked down, only to realize to her horror that blood had begun to seep from between her legs as well, slicking the thighs of her armour and soaking into the material of the seat. Another strong, psychic pulse washed over her, seeming almost to constrict around her brain, attempting to drag her back into the dreamscape again, but she gritted her teeth, fighting it off with every ounce of willpower she could manage. Suddenly, she felt a dull, throbbing ache flare up from her back, the sensation spreading downwards into her abdomen as a heave of pressure pushed down uncomfortably against her pelvis. Her entire body gave a wracking shudder as she gripped the handles at the edges of the mech's roof, giving a dry sob as she felt herself contract, another gush of blood surging from between her legs at the terrifying sensation, seeping over the edge of the seat and dripping onto her armoured boots and the floor of the mech.

Pressing her legs frantically together, Shepard panicked, clawing desperately at the mech's controls as she searched for the emergency thruster switch that would send her back to the surface. Finally finding what she was looking for, she input the emergency launch code with violently shaking hands, feeling the mech start to back up across the surface of the rock causeway before finally activating its thrusters and starting towards the lip of the cavern. A long, deep, terrifying rumble followed the Triton as it rose, a singular beacon of light illuminated against the dark, murky depths of the ocean as it made its way back towards the surface, racing against time and the Leviathan as it strove to get away, and Shepard strove just as hard not to think of what would happen once she got there.

* * *

The Triton broke the surface with a burst of ocean spray, its thrusters sputtering in the now-open air as they propelled the mech a few feet upward into the bleak sky before finally faltering and dying, dropping it down onto the slick, metal surface of the barge with a heavy, reverberating _thunk_. The reinforced feet of the mech took most of the shock of the landing, but the impact still caused Shepard to give a shout of pain as the cockpit rattled her up and down, sending another sharp pang of agony up her spine. Heavy rain cascaded down against the lid of the mech, obscuring her already blurry vision, but she pushed the controls weakly forward, desperately searching for any familiar presence, anything to ground her, to assure her that she was not still in the hell she had just escaped.

As she walked the mech forward across the surface of the barge, Shepard could barely make out the forms of Garrus and Liara darting across the rainy dory, firing openly at two Brutes that had somehow managed to corner them on the edge of the platform. Slowing to a shaky stop, she groped heavy-handedly for the button to open the lid of the mech, and as soon as the cover began to rise, the safety bar that had been holding her inside lifted up off her chest, causing her to slump forward in her seat, barely held up by the cross-strapped belts she had buckled herself in with. As the mech powered down, driven to its limit by the bottomless dive, Shepard fumbled blindly for the button to release the safety belts, her numb fingers finally pushing down on it just hard enough to cause them to retract, releasing her from their hold. Without anything left to hold her in place, she slowly collapsed forward, her knees giving out under her as she tumbled from the cockpit of the mech, landing unceremoniously on her face on the rain-slicked metal surface of the barge. She heard a sickening _crack_ as she made contact, knowing from the sharp ache in her head that she had likely broken her nose in the impact, but she was too weary to even force herself to acknowledge the pain.

The rain continued to pour down on her in unrelenting droves as she lay where she had fallen, unable to move, the driving water eddying around her, washing away the blood that coated her in swirling florets. With the amount of water moving around her, it was difficult to tell where the blood was coming from, and as she looked up, her hair sticky and wet with blood and rain, all she could see was a singular stream of reddish-tinted water flooding over the edge of the deck and back out to sea before vanishing into the churning waves. It was impossible to tell where the blood from her nose ended and the blood from between her legs began. As she squinted, trying to clear her blurry vision, she looked up in time to see the two Brutes that had earlier been antagonizing Garrus and Liara moving towards her across the barge, snarling menacingly, their massive claws raised, ready to attack. A wave of sickening panic pulsed through her at the sight of the creatures, and she gave a visceral, almost involuntary dry, choking sob, screaming hoarsely and pushing out one useless hand in the Brutes' direction in an effort to ward the monstrosities away.

Almost as soon as she had, she heard a low, thrumming sound, like the pump of a massive heartbeat, and felt a wave of what felt like pure energy wash over her, engulfing the Brutes as it passed. The Brutes stopped dead in their tracks, seeming stunned, almost confused. Then, after a moment of razor-thin, ringing pause, the Brutes suddenly turned on one another, beginning to fight one another, completely ignoring Shepard. Recognizing his chance, Garrus instantly darted forward from his defensive cover, making his way quickly over to where Shepard lay, still giving desperate, gasping, dazed sobs as she watched the Brutes fighting in front of her, unsure what was happening or why. Gathering her up under the arms, he tried to coax her to her feet, but she gave another hoarse scream at the sight of him, attempting to push him away with what little strength she had, before beginning to thrash weakly in his grip, striking him uselessly with her fists.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" she screamed, traumatized. " _DON'T TOUCH ME!_ "

Garrus ignored Shepard's frail protests, giving a grunt of effort as he dragged her back towards the safety of his and Liara's cover before finally allowing her to drop down again as soon as he knew she was out of harm's way. "Shepard's back!" Garrus shouted, pressing in on his in-ear comm as he glanced back over the edge of the cover, making sure the Brutes were still distracted. "Cortez, talk to me!"

"We're good to go!" Cortez reported back over the intercom, just as breathless. "I don't know what the Commander did, but the pulse is offline!"

Looking up at the sound of an approaching vehicle, Shepard hyperventilated, her eyes widening as the blurry outline of the Kodiak made its way towards them, finally settling into a steady hover a few yards away from their position. Garrus tried to pull Shepard to her feet again, but again she protested, wrestling out of his grip, causing Liara to have to take the mantle instead, looping Shepard's wet, blood-streaked arm around her shoulders as the three limped over to the Kodiak as fast as their hindered legs could carry them. Clambering up into the Kodiak first, Garrus turned back around, holding out his arms expectantly as Liara pulled Shepard's arm from her shoulders, coaxing her forward into Garrus' waiting hands. Despite her weak struggling, Garrus still managed to lift her up into the Kodiak, settling her gently down on the floor of the carriage before helping Liara up into the shuttle as well and closing the door quickly behind them. With his crew now on board, Cortez put the engines into overdrive, pulling the Kodiak up into a sharp ascent and streaking into the bleary sky in the direction of the waiting Normandy.

"Commander, we got a Reaper inbound!" Cortez called back over his shoulder, desperately typing commands into the console as he tried to manoeuvre as quickly as possible out of the way of the incoming vessel. Shepard looked up at the announcement, startled, and, seeing the rapidly approaching Reaper through the visor of the shuttle, she gave a sharp, violent, involuntary lurch, vomiting up what was left of her lunch all over the front of her armour. The Reaper honed its sights on the shuttle, its singular red targeting light blazing into life as it zeroed in on the tiny ship's approach. Suddenly, another thrumming, near-heartbeat pulse washed over the Kodiak, engulfing the Reaper in its thralls and causing the machine to go instantly slack, its leg-like claws flailing out unceremoniously to its sides as it sailed right over the Kodiak. Cortez pushed the shuttle forward, darting under the Reaper, just barely managing to clear its length before the massive unit went into freefall, toppling heavily downward through the air until it finally crashed into the ocean below. The Reaper floated momentarily on the surface of the water, lingering, before it slowly began to sink, its weakly-twitching legs the last part of it to disappear beneath the choppy ocean waves.

With the Reaper threat taken care of, Shepard gave a soft, delirious whimper, clutching desperately towards Liara, who was quick to kneel down to her level, holding onto her reassuringly as she began to sob, hyperventilating hysterically. At first, her words were unintelligible, but as Liara listened, she began to understand her more clearly. "I don't want it anymore," Shepard sobbed quietly, shaking her head as she hiccupped wildly for breath. "Take it out of me! Please don't make me do this…! I can't take it, please…!" A trickle of blood dripped freely from her broken nose as she buried her face in Liara's shoulder, her thin, frantic shoulders shaking as Liara hushed her gently, pulling her in close and resting her hand reassuringly on the Commander's thigh as she petted her wet, blood-streaked hair.

"What is she talking about?" Garrus insisted, startled, crouching down beside the two of them and turning his gaze desperately towards Liara. "What is she saying?!"

"She's delirious," Liara told him, frankly. Then, turning her attention back to Shepard again, she lifted free hand to push a stray lock of hair from the Commander's face, but frowned when she saw an unexpected streak of blood on her armoured glove. Looking down towards Shepard's thighs, Liara bit her lip, considering for a short, tense moment whether to say anything, before deciding it would be best not to, at least for the time being. "Shh, Shepard, it's okay," she assured her, gently, holding her shivering form to her chest. "You're going to be all right."

"What in the world happened down there?" Garrus asked, hovering frantically over the two like a panicked mother hen. "What's wrong with her? Is she going to be all right?" In response, Shepard gave another loud, dry, choking sob, her fingers curling into the tough outline of Liara's armour as she curled in on herself, tucking her knees in close to her body as she dropped her head down, hiding it from view.

"Please," she begged, her voice wavering desperately, barely able to speak for its shaking. "Please, I can't take it anymore… you can't let them have it… please, just take it out of me…"

"She's in shock," Liara told Garrus, coaxing Shepard's chin up to wipe the streaks of tears, blood, and vomit from her haggard, reddened face. "Once we're back on the Normandy, I'll take her up to her cabin, see if I can calm her down. You should stay down on crew level and let everyone know what happened."

"What?" Garrus insisted, frowning, taken aback by the unsavoury suggestion. "No! No, I'm not gonna wait around the crew deck like some… some ignorant _stoolpigeon_ while Shepard's still in this state. I mean – look at her, Liara! Something is clearly _very_ wron—"

Suddenly, Shepard looked up at Garrus, her frenzied eyes growing wide as she reached up to grip his face between her hands, cutting him off short as she forced him to look directly at her. Garrus' expression instantly cleared, changing from one of distaste to one of surprise as Shepard took a deep, shuddering breath, her entire body shivering violently as she stared wildly up into his eyes, desperate and afraid. "I'm not going to have it," she told him, her voice dark, but still shaking. "I can't do it. You can't make me. Please. _Please don't make me_."

Garrus faltered, staring, wide eyed, at Shepard, taken aback by her words, before turning his attention desperately up towards Liara again, even more frantic than before. "Liara, what is going on?!" he insisted, his own voice nearly breaking with worry. "What is she talking about?!"

"We're almost to the Normandy," Cortez reported, anxiously, turning around in his seat to check fleetingly on the shore party. "Can Shepard hold on just a little bit longer?"

"She'll be all right," Liara answered, gently prying Shepard's hands away from Garrus' face and cradling her head against her collar-bone instead. "Just… hurry, please, if you can." Then, turning her attention back to Garrus, she frowned, pursing her plum lips as she held Shepard protectively against her chest, rocking her gently to calm her frayed nerves. "If you really need to know what's going on, you can ask her about it later," she told him, not even bothering to keep from bristling. " _She's not well_ , Garrus. Tell the crew what happened. I'm going to see if I can't take care of Shepard."

"Kill me," Shepard whispered, her shrill voice hoarse, almost undiscernible in Liara's ear. "Please… please… _just kill me_ …!"

"Arriving at the Normandy," Cortez announced, coasting the Kodiak into a hurried, smooth landing inside the hangar of the much larger ship.

* * *

The warm, sweet smell of vanilla was the first thing Shepard registered when she finally opened her eyes.

At first, she had no idea where she was. The clear, open expanse looking out onto the starry stretch of space above her made her wonder initially if she might be dead and merely feeling like she still inhabited her mortal body for whatever neurological sensation associated the soul with the physical self. It took her a moment to realize she was lying in her bed in her cabin on the Normandy, and the starscape she was looking out on was her upward-facing window to the exterior of the ship. She had no idea how she had gotten there – her last solid memory was of getting into the Triton mech on 2181 Despoina and going into the water, but after that, everything was a scattered blur. Reaching up a hand, she touched it gently to her face, noting the bandage taped across the bridge of her nose, which gave a stinging pang as she touched it, causing her to hiss quietly in pain. At this sound, Liara looked up from where she sat on the couch halfway across the room, raising her painted brows, surprised. When she saw that Shepard was not in serious distress, she relaxed a bit, letting out a soft, relieved breath as her gloved hands curled gently around a mug of vanilla tea sitting delicately in her lap.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Liara greeted her, softly.

Pressing a hand to her aching head, Shepard gave a soft groan, shifting on the bed to prop herself up on her elbows in an effort to better see what was going on. Now that she was more fully awake, she slowly began to remember the events of a few days before, blurry, scattered memories starting to take uncertain form as she attempted to piece them all together. "How long was I out?" she asked, hoarsely, squinting into the soft light of the cabin.

"Three days," Liara answered, gently. "I went ahead and gave you a bath on the first day. I hope you don't mind, but… I figured you needed it. And then again yesterday, after you'd sweated through your pyjamas, pillow, and sheets." She paused here, biting down gently on her lower lip, before taking in another soft, deep breath. "You were really out of it for a while," she said, honestly. "For the first day or so, I was afraid you might not wake up at all."

"And miss out on your tea?" Shepard joked, weakly, causing Liara to give a small, soft smile in return.

Getting up from her seat, Liara set her mug of tea aside on the low couchside table, moving over to where the still-hot kettle sat on the far edge of Shepard's desk before picking up a second mug she had brought with her from beside the kettle and beginning to fill it with hot, fragrant tea. Once the cup was nearly full, she set the kettle down again, crossing the room to where Shepard still sat in bed and handing her the steaming mug. Satisfied that Shepard could handle it, she moved back across the room towards the couch again, settling herself down and picking up her own mug of tea again, taking a small, quiet sip. With this genial process now finished, a moment of silence fell between them, awkward, telling, the only thing moving the soft curls of steam drifting off Shepard's mug of tea as it sat, watched but untouched, in her lap.

"How is…?" Shepard suddenly spoke up again, but quickly trailed off, reluctant to finish the question. Her hand drifted down to her stomach, half-aware, as if to make sure everything up to this point had not been some sort of strange fever dream, but when she felt the telltale curve of her abdomen underneath her pyjama shirt, she knew it was all too real.

"Stable," Liara returned, candidly, giving a little nod in return. "I… managed to get in contact with Mordin, on Nevos, to ask him for his insight on how to… help. He was very accommodating, of course. He helped me figure out how to check up on it using your omni-tool function, and do what I could to… make sure it…" She trailed off as well, chewing nervously on her lower lip as she stared warily at Shepard, not wanting to say something insensitive but unsure what to say instead.

"Make sure it lived," Shepard finished, frankly. "Make sure it wasn't dead."

"Yes," Liara answered, seeming strangely less than relieved at having her uncomfortable sentence finished. She paused, awkwardly, tapping her gloved fingers gently against the line of her mug as she stared down at her tea, lost in thought. Then, taking a sharp breath in, she suddenly looked up again, as if she had just remembered something important. "I talked to Anne Bryson," she told Shepard. "Admiral Hackett has asked her to join the scientific team on Earth working to complete the Crucible Project. She seemed very excited to hear about your ordeal with the Leviathan, as did Admiral Hackett." At this, she paused again, fidgeting uncertainly with her mug as she turned her attention to her gloved hands once more, anxious. "I… told them it was likely not something you would be willing to talk about," she finished, tentatively. "At least for a long while yet. I… hope that was the right thing to say. You weren't exactly around to ask about it."

"That was fine," Shepard confirmed, nodding tiredly as she brought her tea to her lips, blowing on it gently before taking a sip. "Thank you." Returning her mug of tea to her lap, she stared wistfully down into it, watching as the gentle steam curled off the liquid before disappearing into the still cabin air. Another long, uncertain moment of silence stretched between them, both deep in thought but neither wanting to voice what they were thinking. Then, looking up at Liara again, Shepard took a deep breath, her thin fingers curling around the edge of her mug as she prepared herself to speak. "I'm going to get rid of it," she announced, her expression set, unwavering. "After Thessia. I want to get the Prothean artefact to Hackett as soon as possible, to help with the building of the Crucible, but once that's over, I…" Faltering, she hesitated, her lips pursing into a hard line as her fingers twitched around the edges of her mug. "I'm going to ask Raan to help me get rid of it," she said, a bit more uncertainly now. "That way I'll have gotten the important mission out of the way, so I won't feel so badly taking some time to… do this."

Liara's brow furrowed into a gentle frown, her index finger tapping anxiously against the rigid edge of her mug. "Are you sure?" she finally asked, tentatively, her voice quiet. "Are you certain you aren't just making a snap decision? I know you've said you wanted to terminate before, but you always seemed to change your mind later. I would make absolute certain this is what you want to do before you make any rash decisions. You know that once you terminate, there's no going back."

Shepard took a deep, shuddering breath at this thought, wetting her lips, uncertainly, before finally swallowing hard and nodding her head, determined. "I… I can't go through with this, Liara," she told her, frankly, her voice beginning to shake faintly again. "Not after what the Leviathan…" She trailed off, going silent again, her fast-beating heart rising up to her throat, threatening to choke her at the still-sensitive, horrific memory. "Not after what happened," she said, amending herself, quieter. "…Down there."

"The Leviathan was just trying to get in your head, Shepard," Liara told her, reassuring, tucking her legs up under her on the couch as she blew on her own drink, cooling it. "None of that was real. It wanted you for itself and was trying to mess with you until you did what it wanted."

"I… I know," Shepard answered, quietly, taking another deep, settling breath. "I know that's true. But… even so, I can't keep it. Not after that." She stared down intently at the tea in her hands, watching as the surface of the liquid burbled faintly in her shaking grasp. Then, turning her pleading gaze up towards Liara again, she took a shuddering breath in, earnest. "Please, Liara," she begged, quietly. "Just respect my choice."

Liara paused, thoughtful, watching Shepard, worriedly. Then, letting out a soft sigh of breath, she nodded, understanding. "Are you at least going to tell Garrus?" she asked.

Shepard frowned, gripping her mug, thoughtful, before finally shaking her head, determined. "No," she said, quiet but firm. "I honestly… I just… I don't think he needs to know."

"Shepard…" Liara started to say, but Shepard cut her off with another, more dogged shake of her head.

"Please, Liara," Shepard pleaded, her voice low, exhausted. "I've made my choice. I don't want to make this any harder on anyone else than it has to be. Garrus included."

"And what happens after that?" Liara asked, concerned, her brow furrowing gently again. "Do you think he's just never going to find out it happened at all if you don't tell him?"

"That's what I'm hoping," Shepard returned, honestly. "Once it's done, it's done. It's gone. And I don't ever want to speak about it again."

"If that's what you want, then I respect that," Liara told her, giving a solemn nod. "Just… please be sure it _is_ really what you want. That's all I ask."

"I will," Shepard told her, wetting her lips. "I'm already giving it until after Thessia. You can't ask for much more than that."

"That's true," Liara conceded, softly, taking another sip of tea.

* * *

Shepard took a deep breath and held it as Hackett's image flickered into life in the vidcomm projection pit, trying to still her rapidly beating heart in preparation for the questions he was sure to ask concerning her most recent progress report. With Liara and EDI's help, she had managed to scrape together a fairly comprehensive mission statement detailing their undertaking with Leviathan, but she had left the ending notably vague, something Liara nor EDI had been able to fix. Hackett's expression was stern as he considered her, unmoving, his blue vidcomm projection flickering faintly as a bit of interference crossed the connection. It never ceased to amaze Shepard how the Admiral somehow managed to find the time and resources to communicate with her so regularly, even in the midst of the war-torn combat zone Earth had become and while hard at work overseeing the enormously important Crucible Project. Straightening her posture, she tucked her hands dutifully behind her back, lifting her head proudly and preparing for the worst.

"I finished reading your report," Hackett told her, straightforwardly. She waited for him to say more, to ask where the rest of the report was, but when he did not, she felt a bit of aching tension slowly begin to leave her, the rigidity in her spine relaxing as she allowed herself to stand normally, still clutching her hands apprehensively behind her back.

"The Alliance wanted more intelligence on the Reapers," Shepard informed him, frankly. "I'd say we got it."

"Our people will be studying it for years to come," Hackett confirmed, giving a short nod of approval. "They're already calling it the Leviathan Codex. It rewrites galactic history as we know it."

Shepard nodded in return, retrieving her hands from behind her back and tucking them more comfortably into the pockets of her hoodie. "Whatever else it means, it tells me the Reapers had a beginning," she told him, leaning her weight back onto one foot, relieving the pressure from her other foot momentarily. "And maybe now we'll provide them with an end."

"That's one way to look at it," Hackett agreed, amenably blunt. "I guess it's the only way. So go out there and make it happen." At this instruction, Shepard retrieved one hand from her pocket to quickly salute her superior, and Hackett gave a short nod of approval in return. "This is a big step in the right direction, Shepard," he added, his brow furrowing, solemn. "Good work."

"Thank you, Sir," Shepard answered, allowing her hand to drop back to her side.

Hackett gave another nod, this time more to himself than to her. "Hackett out," he told her, before severing the vidcomm connection.


	25. WEEK FIFTEEN

Between Shepard's unwillingness to talk about the events on 2181 Despoina, and her request for her crewmates to do the same, it only took a few short days for the incident on the watery planet to become old news aboard the Normandy. Crew members still stopped their conversations from time to time to glance warily over at Shepard whenever she entered a room, but it was usually just to wait for an opportunity to say hello before they returned to their original discussions. Even Garrus seemed to have given up on trying to get something more concrete out of her, but she figured that might have had something to do with the fact that she had been going out of her way not to speak to him at all more or less since the incident. Any talks they did have were generally short, professional, and almost always in the company of other crew members. Shepard hoped that if she just left the matter alone long enough, Garrus might forget about it entirely, but the furtive, worried glances he kept throwing her way from time to time made her less and less confident in this plan as time wore on.

The incoming message button was already flashing by the time Shepard entered the comm room, and as soon as she pressed it, two familiar blue figures flickered into life, both standing at military attention as they waited for their transmissions to be received. "Shepard," Hackett greeted her, shortly, before lifting a hand to indicate towards the hologram of Anderson at the far side of the vidcomm pit. "I got Anderson patched in already, so we can go ahead and begin." The projection of Anderson nodded agreeably at Shepard in response, his hands tucked thoughtfully behind his back as he waited for Hackett to finish, and Shepard nodded back, shortly, before returning her attention to Hackett again. "I was just getting him up to speed," Hackett continued, straight to business. "I received word from the Council. They're requesting an update on the Crucible."

"Kai Leng has them scared," Anderson commented, glancing towards Hackett before returning his attention to Shepard again, intent. "Enough to send help, maybe?"

"Who is Kai Leng, exactly?" Shepard asked, taking a curious step forward towards the vidcomm pit. "I know he's the one who attacked me on the Citadel, and Miranda Lawson mentioned him being the Illusive Man's backup for losing me… but apart from that my information is pretty limited."

"Your information is good, limitations aside," Anderson commended, sounding pleasantly surprised. "I'll have Hackett send you my reports on him, but short story, Shepard: be careful. Leng's a mean son of a bitch, and dangerous, too." Frowning, he rested a solemn hand on his hip, the other hand moving up to absentmindedly scratch his cheek, scraping against a few days' worth of neglected stubble. "Kahlee Sanders and I had our share of run-ins with him over the years," he added, letting his hand drop back to his side again with a short, anxious sigh. "I shot him in both legs once… thought that might be the end of him, but he showed up again a little while later on Omega, even stronger."

"The Illusive Man patched him up?" Shepard guessed, folding her arms.

"That would be my guess, given what they were able to do with you and Grayson," Anderson agreed, offering a solemn nod of his head. At the mention of Paul Grayson, Shepard felt her stomach turn, but she steeled her expression, continuing to listen. "It's a safe bet Leng's even more dangerous now than ever before."

"I'll take whatever advantage I can get against these bastards," Shepard told him, determinedly.

"Don't forget that we still have allies," Hackett reminded her, causing her to turn her attention towards him again. "Your actions haven't gone unnoticed, Commander. The salarians are throwing in their full support, and the asari have expressed a willingness to support our cause as well… theoretically. They still have certain… reservations, however, before they'll actually commit."

"It's being taken care of," Shepard assured him. "I talked to Councillor Tevos and we're on our way to Thessia as we speak. How's your progress on the Crucible otherwise?"

"Good," Hackett answered, frankly. "Our estimates suggest we've completed nearly seventy percent of the known work. Possibly more."

"So quickly?" Shepard asked, surprised.

"Once decoded, the schematics are designed in such a way that allows our scientists to easily translate the information," Hackett returned, directly. "Despite what we initially thought, it's not Prothean specific."

"Hm," Shepard grunted, frowning as she turned away from Hackett to pace to the far end of the room, before turning and pacing back towards the vidcomm pit again. She knew better than to question the Alliance's methods, but the vague way Hackett was describing their intel on the Crucible was doing nothing to settle her nerves. Despite having the galaxy's best minds working on the Project, Shepard found it hard to believe that they would already be nearly seventy percent finished with such an unprecedented task in just under four months' time. The whole situation seemed a bit too convenient to be true, but she also knew perfectly well that necessity was an effective motivator, and imminent annihilation was an extremely relevant pretence for necessity.

"Are we any closer to understanding how to use it?" Anderson asked Hackett, interrupting Shepard's train of thought and causing her to look up at the two of them again.

"That's still open for debate," Hackett admitted, his steely expression never faltering. "Utilized in the right fashion, our scientists are convinced it can generate enough energy to destroy the Reapers. The question is, how will it dispense the energy, and in what form?"

"You mean, how do you stop it from wiping us all out?" Anderson asked, clarifying. It was difficult to tell if he was joking or not – on the one hand, the phrasing was so blunt and bizarre that it certainly seemed like a joke, albeit a dark one, but the subject matter was so far from funny that it made Shepard almost uncomfortable to hear it, especially coming from Anderson. Still, she had to admit that he had a point as she turned her attention back towards Hackett again, waiting expectantly for an answer.

"Exactly," Hackett returned, still completely composed. "We think the Catalyst is the key to determining how to focus its energy. How to direct its energy at the Reapers, alone."

Shepard nodded along with this statement, leaning anxiously against the vidcomm control station as she scuffed the toe of her boot on the metal floor. "I'm working on that," she told him, resolutely. "I got a lead, and… we're following up on it."

"You'll find the answers, Shepard," Hackett assured her, offering her a determined nod in return. "I'll send you an update on the schematics, and in the meantime we'll keep building."

"And we'll keep fighting," Anderson added, causing Shepard to look his way again. "Make sure there's an Earth left to come back to."

Shepard hesitated, considering these statements, before pushing herself away from the control station again and tucking her hands self-consciously in her hoodie pockets. "You've always trusted me," she told Anderson. "I won't let you down."

"We're still in this," Hackett added, self-assured. "The gods of war haven't given up on us yet."

"Good luck, both of you," Anderson told them, before his gaze settled on Shepard again, fatherly. "Anderson out."

"Hackett out," Hackett agreed, and with that, both holographic images flickered out of existence, leaving Shepard alone in the vidcomm room once again.

* * *

With Tali rooming on the main crew floor and Wrex taking time to rebuild his homeworld, the war room had been all but cleared out of its usual familiar stragglers. The only people who seemed to occupy the space anymore were one or two spare crew attendants, but even they seemed to be taking a simultaneous lunch break at the moment as the war room was entirely empty by the time Shepard emerged from the comm room. Moving to stand beside the hub, she gave a soft, tired sigh, leaning forward on her palms against the cool, sleek metal and watching the holographic image of the Crucible spin slowly in the middle of the console. It did not take long before the sound of quiet footsteps entering the war room reached her ears, but she paid no attention to them, figuring it was probably just one of the attendants returning from a coffee break, eager to get back to work. She was surprised, then, when, rather than returning to his computer station, the second individual came to stand beside her at the war console, leaning on his elbows next to her and watching the spinning hologram as well, attentively.

"Are you okay?" Garrus asked, gently, causing Shepard to look up at him, surprised, before turning her attention back to the console with a soft huff of breath.

"Not really," she answered, truthfully. It was hardly worth lying about it anymore – anyone who knew her knew that she had been having difficulties lately, even if none of them knew the full extent. It hardly seemed worthy of mess hall conversation to bring up sore feet, an aching back, and an overactive bladder when the topic of discussion generally tended to lean more towards whose family members had been most recently killed or displaced by Reaper attacks.

"Hm," Garrus grunted, softly. "Anything I can help with?"

At this, Shepard gave a short, sharp, unintentional snort of a laugh, causing Garrus to look up in surprise, but she quickly amended it with a shake of her head, dropping her gaze to the floor instead and wetting her lips. "No," she told him. "It's, um… nothing you can help with, really. You've done everything you can do for me at this point in, uh…" She paused again, clearing her throat. "All things considered," she finished.

"Oh… okay," Garrus answered, still sounding a bit taken aback as he returned his attention to the hologram of the Crucible. "Well, if there's anything I can do to help…"

"I'll be sure to let you know," Shepard told him.

"Right," Garrus agreed, nodding affirmatively. Going quiet again, he stared ahead at the war console, purposefully not looking at her, not wanting to crowd her, but he could not stop his mandibles from giving worried, telling tics against his jaw, despite his best efforts to seem casual and unaffected. The soft beeps of the machine filled the empty space, causing the tension between them to tighten like a wire the longer they sat in silence, until finally, unable to take it any longer, Garrus cleared his throat, gently, before turning to look over at her again. "When we… were in the shuttle… on the way back from 2181 Despoina…" he started to say, but Shepard quickly cut him off with a dogged shake of her head.

"Please don't ask me about that," she told him, her voice quiet but coldly firm. "I don't want to talk about it."

Garrus hesitated, opening his mouth to say something else, before finally closing it again with a short, soft sigh. "You have to talk about it sometime, Shepard," he finally told her, frowning faintly. "Even if it's not with me. With someone. Doctor Chakwas, or… someone."

"How do you know I haven't already?" Shepard challenged him, fiddling distractedly with the sleeve of her hoodie, intentionally not meeting his gaze.

"Because I… I asked," Garrus answered, awkwardly. "I was… worried, about you, about the way you were acting, avoiding talking to anyone about it, and—listen, Shepard." Leaning on one elbow against the war console, he sighed again, turning to face her and lowering his voice to make sure only she could hear. "Your friends… we're all concerned about you," he told her, honestly. "I— _we_ … we don't mean to be annoying, but we want to know that you're all right. We care about you a lot, Shepard, and that… whatever it was, whatever happened, it clearly took a toll on you, even if you like to keep pretending that it didn't."

"I never said it didn't," Shepard answered, bluntly. "I just said I didn't want to talk about it."

"That's the _thing_ , though, Shepard," Garrus pressed, indicating towards her with both hands, exasperated. "Honestly, you can't keep _internalizing_ things. We all know what a strong person you are, you don't have to prove it by pretending nothing bothers you. Something about what happened on that planet is _clearly bothering you_ —"

"Right now what's bothering me is you," Shepard cut him off, turning to look at him, annoyed. She faltered, taken aback by her own harsh reaction, before letting out a heavy, apologetic sigh and crossing her arms across her chest, leaning her hip tiredly against the side of the war console. "I'm sorry," she told him, quietly. "I didn't mean that. I'm just… stressed, I guess. Between the whole Leviathan thing, and the Reapers…" She trailed off, hesitating another moment, before lifting a hand to indicate fruitlessly towards the war room at large. "All this," she finished. "All of it." Then, crossing her arm over her chest again, she returned her gaze to Garrus, resignedly. "Ask me whatever you want," she told him.

Garrus hesitated, unsure what to do with this newfound freedom, still seeming highly wary of stepping on her toes. Then, finally, he took a deep, readying breath, preparing to ask his first question. "On the shuttle ride back from… the planet," he began, tentatively, making sure to speak only loud enough for Shepard to hear him. "What… were you talking about when you said you wanted to 'get it out of you'?"

"My… head," Shepard returned, shortly, feeling her gut clench at the question as she tried to think quickly on her feet. "It was, the Leviathan was… in my head. You know. Toying with me. Like…" She hesitated, considering, before making a quick, awkward gesture towards her head. "Psychic… like… you know." Letting her hand drop back to her side, she sighed heavily, frowning at her inability to articulate. "It sounds stupid when I try to explain it," she told him. "But, it was there, and… I wanted it out. That was all."

Garrus paused a moment, considering this explanation, his mandibles giving a few pensive tics against the side of his chin before he finally took in a deep, thoughtful breath. "Okay," he returned, tentatively. "That makes… sense, I guess. But then, there was also… that… what did you mean when you said you 'weren't going to have it'? That you 'couldn't do it', and we 'couldn't make you'?"

"I was…" Shepard sighed, running an exasperated hand back through her hair. "Garrus, I was very sick," she told him, frustrated. "The Leviathan made me think there were… things, inside my body. It reached into my subconscious and pulled out a nightmare I had once, and it… it was just…" Trailing off, she shook her head, letting out another short, agitated sigh as she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. "It was traumatic," she said, her voice quieter. "I don't know how to explain it, but I'd really prefer not to talk about it, if that's okay. I honestly don't want to think about it."

"But you are okay, right?" Garrus asked, reaching forward to gently take hold of her wrists, causing her to look up at him again, surprised. His expression was gentle, sincere, and she could not help but feel a pang of guilt for lying to him about the Leviathan, among everything else. "There isn't actually anything harmful in your body? It was all in your head?"

Shepard faltered, frowning a bit at the oddly worded question as she stared at him, taken aback. "Why would you ask that?" she insisted, guarded. Then, realizing her mistake, she lifted a hand to stop him from answering, shaking her head and dropping her gaze to the floor once again. "Sorry, sorry," she told him, nodding reassuringly. "I… yeah, no, yeah, I'm… I'm fine. I'm fine. It's nothing to worry about, really. I'm fine, really. Honestly. I'm just…" She trailed off again, letting her hand return to her pocket. Then, looking up at him again, she made a face, indecisive, before letting out a long, heavy sigh. "Garrus… listen," she told him, quietly. "I… have to tell you something. This whole… near-death, Leviathan thing made me realize how pressing it is, and… I figure… you deserve to know." She paused, feeling suddenly strangely lightheaded as she took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and preparing herself to tell him the truth.

"I…" she started to say, but she suddenly stopped short, feeling a sickening, twisting feeling in her gut at the prospect of going on. Her words caught hard in her throat, unable to move, and she frowned, frustrated, hunching her shoulders and simply staring at him for a moment, watching as he stared back, expectantly, his vivid, avian blue eyes keen as his mandibles hovered at his chin, quivering gently with anticipation. I—" she started to say again, but the thought was quickly interrupted as the sound of Joker's voice cut over the intercom, pulling her back to stark reality and causing both of them to look up in surprise.

"Commander, Thessia's under heavy Reaper attack," Joker reported, his voice rushed and grave. "There's activity across most of the planet."

Looking back at Garrus again, Shepard hesitated, lifting a hand, before letting it fall back to her side again with a short, sharp huff of breath. "I should go," she told him, shortly, before turning away from the hub and starting instead up the stairs of the war room, leaving him standing there in unfulfilled anticipation. Making her way past the meeting-room, she pressed quickly towards the front of the ship, trying hard to keep her mind from racing, willing her heart to stop pounding so loudly in her ears at what she had almost revealed. "What about the Temple?" she asked Joker, stuffing her hands warily into her pockets as she passed the two recruits standing guard at the identification terminal. "Can you raise the scientists?"

"Negative," Joker answered, his voice following her through the ship as she picked up her pace, moving around the galaxy map station towards the cockpit. "All channels are scrambled across the spectrum. The mission's looking really dicey."

Reaching the front of the Normandy at last, Shepard moved up behind Joker's chair, resting her hands on the headrest as she frowned down at the digital display laid out in front of him. "This is too important," she insisted, barely sparing a glance backwards as the sound of light footfalls hurried up to stand behind her. Seeing that Shepard was busy with Joker, Liara lingered a few feet away, fidgeting faintly and chewing nervously on her plum lower lip as she waited for the Commander to finish talking. "It's now or never."

"Shepard," Liara interjected, anxious, unable to wait any longer. Interrupted from her train of thought, Shepard turned, surprised, and watched as Liara pointed to one of the screens lining the Normandy's cockpit, showing a holographic image of the planet Thessia. "That's my home down there," Liara insisted, her voice strained, almost desperate. "I _have_ to go."

Shepard nodded, quickly, holding out a hand to brush understandingly against Liara's arm as she turned away from the cockpit again, beginning to move past her towards the hangar of the ship. "Get to the shuttle," she told Liara, shortly. "I'll be right behind you. Let's do this. We're going to Thessia."

* * *

The shuttle ride to the surface of Thessia was uncomfortably silent. Shepard stood nearest the door, holding onto the overhead handlebars as she watched the other two members of her ground team, waiting for one of them to say something, but no one seemed to be much in the mood to talk. Liara sat at the farthest end of the Kodiak's bench, her hands poised rigidly against her knees, barely even seeming to touch them as she stared at the display screen on the shuttle wall, watching in silent, sickened dismay as the image of a Reaper blazed its way across the digital landscape, destroying anything that happened to be in its path. Javik stared straight ahead, his posture rigid, his expression set, unmoving. He had been initially unimpressed with the idea of joining the ground party on Thessia, but had ultimately decided to go along anyway when he heard that Liara would be going as well, explaining bluntly that "if the technology we seek is truly Prothean, then it is worth a look." That had been the only explanation he seemed willing to offer on the subject, and, despite a faint, nagging curiosity, Shepard simply did not care enough about his motivation to press him for further details.

"Liara, have anything more on the artefact?" Shepard asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence and causing Liara to look up at her, surprised.

"The coordinates the Councilor gave you is for the Temple of Athame," Liara answered, trying hard to keep her voice even and calm despite her obvious distress. "My mother took me there once… it is several thousand years old. And… for some reason, it has classified government funding."

"Sounds like we're on the right trail," Shepard returned, assuredly.

Liara nodded in agreement, thoughtful, before turning her attention back to the vid screen. She paused, biting down gently on her lower lip, before her hands curled into even tighter fists at her knees and she took a deep, sharp breath, looking up at Shepard again, worried. "What if we're too late?" she asked, her voice wavering with anxiety for the first time. "My people… my people are _dying_ down there."

"Your empathy is a weakness," Javik spoke up suddenly, his tone harsh, causing both Liara and Shepard to look his way. "You must numb yourself to loss."

Liara faltered, unsure how to respond to such an unfeeling reaction, but Shepard quickly cleared her throat, cutting over the uncomfortable pause left by Javik's interruption. "Benezia took you to this temple?" she asked, drawing Liara's attention back to her again. Despite still seeming a bit dazed, Liara appeared relieved for the distraction, bringing her hands up from where they had been rigidly poised and beginning to wring them instead, gently.

"I was just a child," she explained, candidly. "I thought it was just a history lesson, but now… maybe there was more to it."

"What do you mean?" Shepard asked, intrigued.

Liara paused again, thoughtfully, before pushing herself up from her seat and moving to stand beside Shepard, effectively cornering Javik out of the conversation. "I went digging through her old files," she said, pulling up her omni-tool and beginning to input something into the holopad. A few moments later, a screen came up, showing an image of Benezia's face along with a long, black box filled with tiny, scrolling text. "She had heavily encrypted records on this place, some dating back centuries. I still can't crack most of them. Whatever's going on, it's well hidden."

"I have studied your mission reports," Javik suddenly spoke up again, inserting himself back into the conversation and causing both women to look his way. "Your mother was indoctrinated."

Liara hesitated, staring at Javik, seeming unsure how to respond to this. "Yes," she finally agreed, her expression unmoving as she closed out the program on her omni-tool. "We had to kill her." Moving back over to the Kodiak's bench, Liara sat down again, her gaze falling to the floor as she folded her hands in her lap once more, her expression distant.

Feeling a sudden surge of annoyance at Javik's unapologetic bluntness, Shepard frowned, frustrated, before turning her attention towards him again. "Benezia fought hard to break free of her indoctrination," she told him, defensive. "Liara's mother was strong. She didn't just give in."

"I never said her indoctrination was a result of weakness," Javik returned, indifferent, narrowing his four yellow eyes faintly. "I was merely making note of the fact that killing her own mother did not stop Liara from continuing to fight. As I said before, it is important that we must steel ourselves. Many more lives will be lost."

Shepard shook her head at this reasoning, resting an agitated hand on her hip as the Kodiak gave a light jostle. "We can't ignore that people are dying," she told him. "The Reapers may not have mercy, but we do."

"The Reapers have merely accepted the inevitability of allowing what must die to die," Javik returned, frigidly, lifting his upper lip ever so slightly to show the edges of his thinly-filed teeth. "They have evolved past the point of prolonging the inexorable for the sake of self-justification. They feel no need to soothe their guilt with lies merely for the placation of their own selfish peace of mind."

Shepard hesitated, taken aback by this response, steeling her grip on the overhead railing and gritting her teeth as the Kodiak gave another gentle rumble under their feet. "Are you trying to say something, Javik?" she asked, her bristling only thinly veiled by a tone of polite disassociation.

Javik stared at her a moment, unblinking, before taking in a deep, thin breath. "No, Commander," he told her, frankly. "Merely that it is the Reapers' indifference that gives them power. I did not mean to infer more than that."

"Then let's show them there's another way," Shepard said, turning her attention towards the screen showing the Reaper on the ground at one of the now-ruined outposts somewhere on the planet's surface. She knew that Javik was more than aware of what he was doing and exactly which buttons to press to set her most effectively on edge, but she was not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much his needling was honestly bothering her. "We'll find the Catalyst and save Thessia without having to stoop to their level."

"I hope you're right," Liara told her, worriedly, folding her hands anxiously in her lap as she looked up at the screen as well.

* * *

The thick, glowing biotic barrier fortifying the walls of the Temple of Athame hummed and pulsated, charging the air around the temple with static energy and causing the sweaty hair on the back of Shepard's neck to stand on end. She was not surprised to be met with resistance at the temple – as far as she knew, this was an integral part of Thessia's history, and the idea that the asari would not think to protect their most precious historical relics against the massacre tearing their planet apart was unlikely, at best. Coming to stand in front of the towering structure, Shepard let out a hefty huff of breath, resting her weapon against the line of her shoulder as she squinted up towards the highest point of the temple, using her free hand to shade her eyes from the low-hanging sun. "Looks like we're in the clear," she announced, turning to glance back towards the other two members of her party, who were slowly coming up behind her, taking their time to marvel at the temple as well. "Let's see if we can find a way inside."

"It appears the temple has been barricaded," Javik observed, moving up to the wall of the building and giving it an attentive once-over.

"Let me take a look," Liara suggested, moving past the two of them and kneeling down in front of a digital lock embedded in the barricade wall. Shepard had not even noticed the lock before Liara had pointed it out, but it did not seem to take long at all for Liara to realize what the problem was, and she quickly pulled up a subscreen on the security device, beginning to input a complicated override code. "It's military-grade encryption," she explained, focused, her slender fingers moving deftly over the digital keypad, her painted brows furrowing intently as she worked. "I think I can override it."

"Wouldn't expect that for a Temple," Shepard commented, offhandedly, watching her work with interest. No matter how long she had known the asari, Liara's talent for code never ceased to amaze her.

"Do religion and military always mix among asari?" Javik asked, half critical, half attentive, his upper lip creeping upward to reveal the tips of his sharp teeth.

"No," Liara returned, straightforwardly, ignoring his deprecation as she continued to work. "This is unusual. Especially since few still follow the Effaime Doctrine."

Shepard nodded along with this explanation, only half paying attention to the conversation going on around her. The pause in movement was making her painfully aware of just how much her feet were really hurting, as well as just how full her bladder seemed all of a sudden. Shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, she chewed anxiously on her bottom lip, tapping her free hand distractedly against her thigh as she waited for Liara to finish her bypass. Javik watched her intently as she fidgeted, unblinking, unmoving, which only served to make her feel that much more uncomfortable as she waited in awkward silence for Liara to finish her work. "Liara," she suddenly spoke up, breaking the painful pause. "You… you don't think I look fat, do you?"

Pausing in her handiwork, Liara turned to glance over her shoulder towards Shepard, seeming surprised by the question, not even appearing to notice as the lines of code on the override screen flew past her, unchecked. Resting a hand on her hip, Shepard stood perfectly still, allowing Liara to observe her in her normal bearing for a moment, before Liara finally shook her head, turning back to her work again and scrolling the code back to where she had last left off. "No," she answered, truthfully. "It mostly just looks like heavy armour, to be quite honest. You're actually looking remarkably svelte. I'd never know you were pregnant unless you told me." Feeling a bit better about herself, Shepard allowed a tiny, self-indulgent smile to touch her lips as she turned back towards the temple, but the smile quickly faded again as soon as she glanced in Javik's direction, only to be met with the hard, critical stare of his four judgmental yellow eyes.

"You look fat," he told her bluntly.

Shepard faltered, opening her mouth, preparing to say something in return, but then, after a moment, she simply closed it again, too tired to argue. "Thank you, Javik," she sighed, deadpan, turning away to look towards the temple doors again. "I knew I brought you along for a reason."

Letting out a sudden exclamation of success, Liara stood from the digilock, turning her attention to the temple as the biotic shield surrounding it powered down, the high-pitched buzzing noise tapering out, causing the fine hairs on Shepard's skin to settle back into place. Shepard took the lead as they made their way into the massive structure, their footsteps reverberating eerily against the tall, burnished walls that towered over them in sleek, dreary shades of dark blue, tapering to a high arch above their heads like a beacon into the sky. An enormous stone statue of what she guessed was an asari goddess watched over them with outstretched arms as they advanced further into the temple, looking around for any sign that someone else might be there waiting for them, but the building was eerily empty and quiet, the only sound the muffled noise of gunfire and explosions coming from outside its thick, protective, polished walls.

"Hello?" Liara called, her voice echoing off the vacant, cavernous walls. "Is anyone here?"

"Something is wrong," Javik hissed. Gripping his gun tighter to his chest, he peered around the temple, wary, as if expecting something to jump out at them from behind one of the displays. "Your scientists should be here."

"Take a look around," Shepard suggested, trying not to let on that she felt just as uncomfortable as he did about the whole situation. "Maybe one of these artefacts is what we're looking for."

"I doubt it," Javik returned, causing Shepard and Liara to look up, confused, to see what he was talking about. It did not take long for them to see what he was referring to – two mangled asari corpses lay prostrate on the floor of the temple near the feet of the statue, side by side in a pool of deep purple blood. Their bodies were positioned awkwardly, their faces turned skyward, their glassy eyes staring blindly at the high ceiling of the sanctuary. Javik approached the corpses slowly, his expression unmoving as he knelt down beside them, reaching out a hand to turn one asari's head to better inspect the damage done. "Their throats," he observed, solemnly.

"What happened to them?" Shepard asked, taking a few wary steps closer to the carnage.

"They've been slit," Liara answered, sounding thoroughly shaken as she stared at the lifeless bodies over Javik's plated shoulder. "The Reapers didn't do this. We're going to have to figure this out on our own."

Shepard frowned, feeling a pang of guilt at the unexpected turn of events, before suddenly pointing to the towering statue, clearing her throat to get Liara's attention again. "Who is this supposed to be?" she asked, hoping to distract Liara from the sight of the slaughtered scientists.

At the question, Liara looked up, her expression distant, faltering a moment as she tried to register what was being asked of her. "That's… the goddess Athame," she finally answered, her voice hollow as she came to stand in front of the statue, looking up into the carved face of the goddess. "Her image has… become more like ours over time."

"You mean your ancestors tried to hide the truth," Javik retorted, getting up from where he had been crouching to stand beside Liara.

At this, Liara seemed to return to reality, turning to look at Javik with indignant, malt-blue eyes. "I'm not willing to believe that everything in our history was a result of Prothean intercession," she told him, firmly.

"Then why does Athame speak Prothean?" Javik countered, turning to look back at her, just as persistent.

Shepard frowned, faltering at this revelation, and turned to look at Javik as well, confused. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"There is something here," Javik told her, taking a deep breath in as he turned to look at her again. "I can sense it."

"In this temple?" Liara asked, her painted brow furrowing faintly. "I admit it is strange this place has been so well-preserved… though Athame does have great historical significance. We once believed our gods were separate from the world, looking down on us…" But Shepard did not hear the rest of what she was saying, as a sudden, familiar sensation began to creep over her, an almost glowing, expanding awareness that began as a low, ringing sound in her head, but which began to grow more and more apparent the more she paid attention to it, almost as if it had been there all along, just waiting for her to notice it. The ringing grew louder and louder, its shrill, silvery tone becoming deeper, thrumming in her chest, expanding against her ribcage, inside her head, the world seeming to vanish around her as the unsounded sensation of existential isolation seeped over her, as if she were the only person left in the universe in that singular, ringing moment, standing still forever among a sea of time…

"There's a Prothean beacon here," she announced, cutting Liara's explanation short.

Liara looked startled at this declaration, exchanging a quick, confused look with Javik before turning her attention towards Shepard again. "What?" she asked, taken aback. "Are you sure?"

"It's not something you forget," Shepard assured her, shaking her head.

"But… why hide it?" Liara asked, frowning, confused.

"The answer is obvious," Javik retorted. "Power and influence. Your people are hoarding the knowledge of my race for their own gain."

"That… can't be," Liara told him, shaking her head, though she sounded less than convinced, even by her own denial. "I can't believe my people would keep this a secret."

"A beacon like this could explain why asari are so advanced," Shepard offered, helpfully.

"This temple is thousands of years old," Javik added, looking between Liara and Shepard, stern. "Time enough to make serious progress."

"That doesn't make it true," Liara answered, pursing her lips, indignantly.

"Well, if it is true, the asari should have shared this knowledge," Shepard told her, trying not to sound as irritated as she felt. "We might not have been in this mess if they had."

"You—you don't know that, Shepard," Liara countered, clearly flustered, making a sharp, exasperated downward gesture with one hand. "We don't know what's going on here."

"All I know is that we don't have much time to find out," Shepard returned, letting out a heavy sigh. "If there's a beacon here, Liara, we need to find it. And fast."

For a moment, Liara stood rigid, her plum lips drawn in a thin line, her shoulders squared, seeming as though she might choose not to cooperate on principle alone. Then, letting out a soft, defeated sigh, she relaxed her posture, pulling up her omni-tool and approaching the statue of Athame. "I don't know how much help I can provide," she admitted, shaking her head. "The few records I can access talk about tapping into Prothean data streams, reconstructing matrices… none of which I see here."

"I do," Javik returned, causing both Liara and Shepard to look his way. Moving over to the sleek, rounded hub at the base of the statue, he pressed a hand to it, and, almost instantly, the hub lit up, giving off a warm, ethereal radiance and a low, throbbing hum. Slowly, as they watched, the glow began to creep from the stone hub up the height of the statue before them, the otherworldly glow seeming be coming from inside the effigy itself. Pale green light seeped out of every crack and edifice as the beacon began to wake up, the humming growing louder the higher the light reached towards the head of the stone goddess. "It has been activated," Javik announced.

"By the goddess," Liara breathed, staring up at the glowing statue. "Incredible. The beacon seems to think you're Prothean, Shepard! It must be the Cipher you got back on Feros years ago."

At this, Javik gave a sharp, unattractive snort, causing Liara to look over at him, annoyed. "Or it could be the Prothean standing beside you," he countered, deadpan.

"Or…" Liara began to argue, before stopping herself and instead letting out a soft, tired sigh. "…That," she agreed, defeated. "Yes."

Suddenly, a loud cracking sound reverberated from the statue, causing all of them to look up, startled, in time to see the massive stone structure begin to spiderweb with fine, rapidly-spreading fissures. The pale green glow coming from within the monument grew more and more intense as the cracks began to grow bigger and bigger, the glistening stone enclosure audibly straining against the otherworldly force that threatened to tear it apart at the seams. "Take cover!" Shepard shouted, ducking for the nearest pew. Throwing up her hands to cover her ears, she braced herself for impact as, barely a moment later, the statue exploded all over the temple, sending pieces of polished rock flying in every direction. Shepard coughed as the air filled with dust from the demolished stone structure, passing a hand in front of her face to try to clear it as she squinted up at the empty space where the statue had once stood, but which now held only a gently glowing beacon, pulsating with pale green light and giving off a strong, low, warm hum as it invited them to come closer and investigate.

"The activation is complete," Javik observed, standing back a few paces as Shepard cautiously approached the glowing, pulsating beam of light. "We can access the beacon now."

"We need to hurry," Liara added, anxiously, taking a step forward towards the beacon before taking the same step back, wary. "This place isn't going to—" Almost as if on cue, a sphere of pale green light blossomed from the beacon, giving off a brilliant flash before drifting gently down to hover in the midst of the three lookers-on. It floated patiently, giving off a low humming sound and seeming almost to be considering its surroundings. The surface of the sphere spun and shifted, a jumble of tiny, nonsensical shapes, and it took Shepard a moment to realize that what she was seeing was actually lines upon lines of binary code.

"…Last very long," Liara finished, quietly, stunned.

"Obtaining chronological marker," the VI reported, its voice smooth, almost calming as the glowing green ball of information continued to spin, its binary numbers flashing faster than Shepard could understand them. "Hold… Timescale established. Post-Prothean cycle confirmed."

"One of our computers," Javik breathed, taking a captivated step closer to the VI.

Suddenly, the sphere of light jetted upward towards the ceiling of the temple, hovering high above their heads as it continued to spin, the motion seeming to speed up as the sphere observed an explosion going off in the far distance. "Reaper presence detected," the VI reported, floating down to ground level again. "This galactic cycle has already reached its extinction terminus. Systems shutting down."

"Hold on," Liara pressed, holding out a hand towards the VI as she took a desperate step forward.

"We need answers," Shepard added, insistent, taking a step towards the alien VI as well.

"To what question?" the VI responded, turning its attention towards Shepard now.

"The Catalyst," Shepard returned, firmly, resisting the urge to take a step back away from the eerie VI. "We need to know what it is to finish the Crucible."

The VI paused, considering this for a moment. Then, with another brilliant flicker of light, it began to expand and grow, until finally it stood before them in a more solid form, having taken on the vague, glowing shape of a being startlingly similar in appearance to Javik. "A memory," Javik observed, a faint hint of a smile touching the corner of his mouth before it quickly disappeared again. "Of one of my people."

"I am called Vendetta," the VI introduced itself. "An advanced virtual construct of Pashek Vran, overseer of the project you refer to as 'Crucible'. He died fighting the Reapers in the battle of Tranbir Nine. Your remaining time is also at an end."

"Were all Protheans so grim?" Liara asked, making a face, frustrated.

"What happened to the Crucible in your time?" Shepard asked, pressing onward despite the interruption. "Why didn't the Protheans deploy it?"

"We were sabotaged from within," Vendetta explained, beginning to pace a few anxious steps back and forth. "A splinter group argued we should dominate the Reapers rather than destroy them. It fractured our order of battle. Later we discovered the separatists were indoctrinated."

"I always suspected as much," Javik hissed, turning his gaze to the floor.

"And now we're facing the same problem," Shepard returned, frowning darkly.

"Our studies of past ages led us to believe time is cyclical," Vendetta explained, matter-of-factly. "Many patterns repeat."

"Like the Reaper attacks," Shepard said.

"And beyond," Vendetta agreed. "The same peaks of evolution, the same valleys of dissolution. The same conflicts are expressed in every cycle, but in a different manner. The repetition is too prevalent to be merely chance."

"We assumed the Reapers were responsible for the pattern," Liara admitted, frowning faintly.

"Perhaps," Vendetta agreed again. "Though I believe the Reapers are only servants of the pattern. They are not its master."

"So who is the master?" Shepard asked, solemnly.

"Unknown," Vendetta answered, frankly. "Its presence is inferred rather than observed. The only certainty is its intention. Galactic annihilation. You now stand at that precipice. Except…" Here, it paused, seeming to freeze in place, the code that made up its structure speeding and slowing as it considered something, thoughtfully. "…There is something new in this cycle," it finally spoke up again, seeming almost surprised at the revelation. "Something different. Something in the pattern of evolution has… changed. It has been… altered. The Reapers… they are desperate to eradicate this change. To return the pattern to its original course. They are not fearful of this change, but they are… troubled. They are servants of the pattern. They do not know what to do with change."

Shepard faltered, taken aback by this unexpected turn of events. "But… that makes no sense," she finally told the VI, taking another step forward towards it. "Just one small change can't really have that much of an effect on the galaxy, on… _everything_. Why would the Reapers be afraid of something so small?"

"Not afraid," Vendetta corrected. "Troubled. They know the greater effects of what even the smallest changes have the propensity to unfold into." The VI paced, its code beginning to speed up again as it tried to decide how best to explain what it was trying to say. "Your scope of causality is far too small," it finally told Shepard, solemnly. "One small drop in an ocean, one tiny ripple, may create a tidal wave. One butterfly beating its wings may cause a cyclone somewhere else. You do not know the effects of what you do. What you have started."

"What I've done doesn't matter," Shepard countered, shaking her head, determined. "What does matter is that there's still hope for this cycle. We need to know what the Catalyst is. Trillions of lives are at risk."

"Trillions of lives are always at risk," Vendetta returned, bluntly. "But if the Reapers have arrived to end your cycle, this discussion is too late."

"We can break the cycle!" Shepard argued, taking a step forward towards the VI, her hand clenching into an angry fist at her side. "We found your plans for the Crucible – we're building it right now! You already said that something had changed in this cycle, something that had never happened before. That has to be worth something! Why won't you help us?"

"The Crucible is not of Prothean design," Vendetta replied, uncooperatively. "It is the work of countless galactic cycles stretching back millions of years. Each cycle adds to it. Each improves upon it. Thus far, none have successfully defeated the Reapers with it."

"Then we'll be the first," Shepard insisted. "Tell us what the Catalyst is."

"Listen to the human," Javik urged the VI. "She can be trusted."

Vendetta hesitated again, weighing its options. "Very well," it finally conceded, turning its attention towards Shepard again. "If you have followed the plans for the Crucible, I will interface with your systems and assist the Catalyst to—" Suddenly, it stopped, its form going rigid, its code flickering and jerking, flashing frantically, as if the VI were in panic mode. "Indoctrinated presence detected," it informed them, abruptly. "Activating security protocol." And before any of them could stop it, the VI shut down, collapsing on itself again and returning to its previous form, the small, floating ball of pale green light.

The ball of spinning code floated over their heads, moving to hover beside the still-active beacon as the sound of whirring blades reached their ears, causing them to turn towards the entrance of the temple. A Cerberus shuttle dipped low over the broad, open plaza, flooding the building with harsh white light, causing Shepard to lift a hand to protect her eyes against the beams as a dark silhouette dropped from the shuttle into the temple's entryway and began to move towards them with footsteps lighter than a cat's. The Cerberus shuttle hovered outside the temple for another moment longer, blaring its bright light into their eyes, before it finally dipped and turned, peeling quickly out of the temple's airspace and leaving its capable passenger behind. With the light no longer in her eyes, Shepard could now clearly see who it was who had interrupted their conversation with the VI, and she felt her blood boil at the sight of his smug, masked face.

"You," she hissed, drawing her gun and hearing the telltale sounds of her companions doing the same. "You killed the scientists – what do you want?"

"Your attention," Kai Leng returned, coolly, seeming completely unfazed at being held at gunpoint. He reached a hand behind him, and Shepard instantly tensed, ready to pull the trigger, but Leng merely pulled what looked to be a small, computerized orb from a pouch at the back of his belt, holding it out in front of him for her to see. "Someone would like to talk with you," he told her. Then, pressing a button on the orb with his thumb, he watched as it floated up into the air above his hand, its lightwire framing spinning slowly as the information stored inside it loaded. Shepard kept her gun trained on the assassin as the sphere floated forward towards her, moving up into the midst of her ground party before flickering into the projected digital form of a familiar human figure. The orb spun slowly in the chest of the construct as it fizzled into focus, giving off a low buzzing sound as it solidified its shape, allowing the digisphere sensor time enough to take in its unfamiliar surroundings.

"Shepard," the Illusive Man greeted her, casually, causing her blood to run cold at the sound of his painfully familiar voice.

Shepard hesitated, looking between the Illusive Man and Kai Leng, unsure which one she should be paying attention to. Then, warily holstering her gun at her hip, she turned her attention to the Illusive Man's hologram, frowning as she wet her lips, preparing to speak, tentative. "How did you find this place?" she asked.

"The archives," the Illusive Man answered, easily, before his glowing blue eyes flicked to Liara, her gun still trained on Kai Leng. "Or did your Shadow Broker miss that one?"

"Show yourself," Liara challenged, frowning. "I promise I won't miss."

"Stick to your talents, Doctor T'Soni," the Illusive Man dismissed her, walking forward towards the collapsed VI, his holographic body passing right through Shepard as he did so. "You've helped to uncover the key to subjugating the Reapers."

"Or destroying them," Shepard countered, defensive.

At this, the Illusive Man turned on his digital heel, his mood changing almost immediately. "Damn it, Shepard!" he swore, his shoulders squaring, rigid. "Destroying the Reapers gains us nothing!"

"How about peace?" Shepard challenged.

The Illusive Man shook his head, holding out an informative hand towards the Commander. "They're just trying to control us," he told her, candidly. "Think about it – if they wanted all organic life destroyed, they could do it. There would be nothing left."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Shepard asked, frowning, confused.

The Illusive Man sighed, seeming almost put upon to have to explain himself. "I know them, Shepard," he told her, frankly. "I know how they think."

"I think you've gotten a little too close to the enemy," Shepard countered, darkly.

At this, the Illusive Man faltered, seeming surprised by her observation. "…No," he finally told her, shaking his head, though he sounded strangely less than convinced, himself. "I'm saying they've got it right. Why kill when you can control?"

"You've been spending too much time with the enemy," Shepard insisted, taking a determined step forward towards the hologram. "They're dragging you over to their side – their way of thinking. Don't you remember when you were rebuilding me, and Miranda Lawson wanted to put a chip in my brain so you could be sure and control me, but you said no?" The Illusive Man looked oddly startled at this stark reminder, his glowing blue eyes widening a bit as he stared at her, not seeming to want to listen but too stunned to interrupt. "You specifically said not to do that," Shepard went on, unwaveringly. "You – _you_ – turned down the opportunity to control me when you had the chance, and I was your biggest liability. That wasn't even so long ago, barely over a year. This isn't your way of thinking – don't you understand that?"

"No," the Illusive Man retorted, sharply. "I mean—no! No, that's not true. I just see things differently now, that's all. It's my idea, it's just… changed. Ideas can change. It doesn't mean anything more than that."

"Yes, it does," Shepard argued, forcibly. "If you truly care about humanity, you'll stop fighting me. You'll join me."

This seemed to strike a chord with the Illusive Man, as all trace of uncertainty suddenly left his expression, and he visibly bristled at her challenge, his brow furrowing into a hard, dark line. "Don't ever question my intentions," he told her, threateningly. "I've sacrificed more for humanity than you'll ever know. And don't assume you know me. My methods for dealing with the Reapers are simply more refined than yours."

"You've forgotten everything you stood for," Shepard shot back, causing the Illusive Man to waver again, fleetingly, before returning quickly to his previous hard expression of indifference. "Cerberus was supposed to be humanity's sword, not a dagger in our back!"

"Poetic," the Illusive Man mocked. "But as usual, you miss the point. The world is more grey than you care to admit."

"With the Prothean data in this beacon, I can end this conflict, once and for all," Shepard pressed, watching out of the corner of her eye as Kai Leng began to pace between the pews of the temple, anxious, like a vulture waiting for its prey to expire. "You're either with me or against me. There's nothing grey about that."

The Illusive Man paused, hanging back a step, balancing the toe of one polished digital shoe against the sleek stone flooring of the temple as he considered Shepard's words. "No," he finally answered, his voice drawing out in a languid, oily brogue. "I suppose there isn't." Then, turning away from Shepard again, he began to walk back across the temple towards where Kai Leng still stood, waiting expectantly. "Leng, the Commander has something I need," he said, as his digital form began to flicker back inside the floating datasphere again. "Please, relieve her of it. And then bring me the data."

"Understood," Leng agreed, catching the floating orb and tucking it into his belt once more.

* * *

The incoming message indicator on the vidcomm console was already flashing by the time Shepard made her way down to the war room, but somehow, she could not bring herself to answer it just yet. She knew exactly who it was on the other end, and what they wanted to talk about, but the subject was still raw, the wounds still fresh, and the idea of talking to anyone right now, most of all the asari councillor, made her want to hide under her bedsheets and not come out again for a long, long while. Unfortunately, while hiding away from the world at large was a good idea in theory, Shepard knew that she had been given far too much responsibility, with far too many lives depending on her, for that to be a viable option in reality. And so, pushing herself away from the doorframe of the vidcomm room, she moved slowly over to the comm console, her hand hovering above the incoming message button for a moment, before she finally took a deep, solemn breath, and pressed it.

It took an instant for the holographic image of the councillor to appear, but when it finally did, it flickered in and out of visibility, giving off a low, sharp buzz as their systems struggled to communicate. "Commander Shepard, is that you?" Tevos asked, her voice distorted by the malfunctioning connection. "Commander?"

Clearing her throat in an attempt push back the lump that threatened to rise to the top, Shepard lifted her head, meeting Tevos' eyes reluctantly. "Councillor," she said, trying hard to keep her voice from shaking. "The mission…"

"We've lost all contact with Thessia," Tevos cut her off, her voice crackling and digitized. "The planet has gone dark. How soon will the Crucible be ready to deploy?"

Shepard hesitated again, unsure how to respond to this leading question. "Councillor," she finally said, slowly. "I… I wish the news was better. We… didn't get the information."

At this news, Tevos frowned, startled by her report. "What happened?" she insisted, taking a step forward towards Shepard in the vidcomm pit.

"Cerberus was there," Shepard answered, honestly, letting out a heavy sigh. "We were…" She faltered, trailing off, before clearing her throat again, gently. "We were defeated," she said, quieter. "We don't know how to finish the Crucible. I'm… sorry."

"I…" Tevos began, softly, before lifting a hand to massage her forehead, overwhelmed. "I… don't know what to say. What was the situation on Thessia?"

"Deteriorating fast," Shepard informed her, truthfully. "The Reapers are there in strength."

Tevos went silent, simply resting her head in her hand for a long, quiet moment. Then, taking a deep, thin breath, she lifted her head again, her eyes weary. "Then… you'll excuse me," she said, trying hard to keep her voice from shaking as well. "There are… preparations to make… continuity of civilization to consider…" She paused again, her line of sight dropping to the floor, overwhelmed, before she finally lifted her gaze to Shepard again, her expression now strangely hollow. "I never thought this day would come," she said, shaking her head, defeated.

"None of us did," Shepard agreed, quietly. "I'm—" But before she could finish the sentiment, the councillor's hologram flickered out, leaving her standing alone in the comm room again in guilty, painful silence. "…Sorry," she whispered, hanging her head.

* * *

The door of Shepard's cabin slid open, causing Shepard to look up quickly, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve and pulling her half-zipped jacket self-consciously tighter around her form, hiding herself from view. Craning her neck, she peered across the room to see who had entered her quarters, but then, seeing that it was only Liara, she allowed herself to relax again, letting her jacket slide back down across her hunched, underfed form. Wiping a few more tears from her cheeks, Shepard sniffled, drawing her bare knees closer to her chest as Liara moved across the cabin to where she sat on the floor beside her bed. Coming to stand in front of Shepard, Liara folded her gloved hands gently behind her back as she stared down at her friend, worriedly. "Mind if I join you?" she asked, her voice quiet, barely loud enough for Shepard to hear over the sound of the bubbling fish tank.

Shepard hesitated, unsure how to respond to this request. Then, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve, she shifted over a few inches on the floor, making room for Liara to sit down next to her beside the bed. Lowering herself to Shepard's level, Liara settled down next to her on the floor, tucking her legs in under her as she slid a reassuring arm around the Commander's freckled shoulders. Shepard sniffled again at the reassuring gesture, letting her head come to rest on Liara's shoulder before letting out a long, low, shaky sigh. "I'm so sorry, Liara," she told her, shaking her head as she stifled a muted hiccup of breath. "I tried so hard to save Thessia, I… I wanted so badly to save it…" Wiping her face with her sleeve again, she coughed gently as another pair of tears skated down her wet, pink cheeks. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, wetting her salty lips as another tear fell down her face, not even bothering to wipe this one away. "It's all my fault. I did everything I could but it wasn't enough. It wasn't… I couldn't…"

"Shh, Shepard, shh," Liara cooed, running her fingers reassuringly through Shepard's hair as she pressed her cheek to the top of her head. "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't."

Giving another choked, stifled gasp of breath, Shepard's expression suddenly crumpled again, and she let out a sharp, barking sob, turning her head to bury her face in the soft fabric of Liara's shoulder. "I couldn't save Thessia," she sobbed, her hands curling into fists in the tear-stained fabric of her hoodie. "I couldn't save your planet, those… commandos, they were counting on me, counting on me to save them, and I couldn't… I didn't…"

"You did everything you could," Liara assured her, turning her head to bury her nose and mouth in Shepard's soft red hair. "I was there, I know you did. Thessia, Shepard, it… it wasn't your fault."

"It _was_ my fault," Shepard insisted, her voice breaking as she lifted her head to look up at Liara again, adamant. "It _is_ my fault. I'm _Commander Shepard_. I… I should have tried harder, I sh… I should have _done_ something, something _more_ , I just…" Shaking her head again, she dropped her face into her hands this time, her breaths coming in rigid, pained gasps as she tried in vain to calm herself. "What's the point, Liara?" she asked, her voice muffled by the material of her sleeves. "What's the point of all this? Of any of this?"

"What do you mean?" Liara asked, gently tucking a lock of tear-wet hair behind one of Shepard's ears.

Looking up from her hands again, Shepard took a shuddering breath, frothing a bit as she did so, causing a thin stream of bubbles to seep from the corner of her mouth, which Liara quickly reached over to wipe away. "I c-can't save lives," Shepard answered, her voice shaking so hard she could barely get her words out past it. "I can't… I can't save _anyone's_ life, Liara – who am I kidding? What's the point? Even if I w-wanted to keep this baby, even… even if…" Her voice trailed off as she choked on her words again, her mouth hanging open, uselessly, before she finally gave another wet, gasping sob, giving up on finishing her thought. "They died because of _me_ ," she sobbed, shaking her head again and causing the lock of hair Liara had tucked away earlier to fall back into her face. "I couldn't help them, I didn't… I didn't help them, I didn't get there fast enough… I should have gotten them out, I should have _done_ something, why didn't… why didn't I _do_ something? I…"

Shepard faltered, trying to figure out how to finish this thought, before finally giving up again and leaning her head into Liara's shoulder, giving another heaving sob as she curled in on herself, pulling Liara's arm in towards her, needing her there beside her. "I don't know what to do," she sniffed, turning her head to bury her face in Liara's upper arm. "I don't know what to do… what if I try to have this child and the same thing happens? What if something horrible happens to my baby and I can't stop it? I can't save her? What then?" Clearing her throat softly, Shepard sniffled again, looking down at herself as she pushed her jacket up to her ribcage, letting her hands come to rest on the protruding curve of her stomach. "I wouldn't be able to take it, Liara," she choked, her voice shuddering. "I wouldn't be able to handle it. I'd rather have no baby at all than have something happen to my baby and not be able to do anything about it. I don't want that. I can't… I can't…"

Her voice trailed off again, overcome, and she lapsed into contemplative silence, her hands curling pensively around the shape of her stomach beneath the thin material of her undershirt. "I'm only human," she insisted, her shuddering voice barely loud enough for Liara to hear. "I can't… I can't save the world, I can't… I can't save everyone…" She paused again, thoughtful, staring intently at her hands on her stomach, before sniffling again and looking up at Liara, her expression solemn but resolute. "But I want to try," she said, determinedly, her voice halted as she willed herself not to cry anymore. "I want… I'm _going_ … to try."

"You're going to have the baby?" Liara asked, barely daring to speak above a wary whisper for fear of setting Shepard off again and possibly causing her to change her mind.

Shepard sniffled, wetting her lips again, before giving a short, solemn nod of her head. "I'm going to try," she repeated, quietly. "I don't know if I'm going to make it, but… I think… I'm going to try."


	26. WEEK SIXTEEN, Pt.1

By the time Shepard made her way back to the war room, a number of the Normandy's crew had already congregated around the central console, talking in low voices among themselves as they waited for the Commander to arrive. Wiping quickly at her face with her sleeve to make sure no telltale streaks remained, Shepard entered the war room, taking a look around and surveying the gathered party. As soon as EDI saw her approaching, she quickly broke away from the rest of the group, moving towards the Commander with her hands folded dutifully behind her back. "Asari forces are in full retreat," she reported, looking on as Shepard approached the war hub, tucking her hands in the pockets of her hoodie as she did so. "It is no longer safe for us to remain in this system."

"Then get us out of here," Shepard agreed, moving to stand beside Liara at the console. Glancing over towards the asari, she hesitated, unsure what to say, before finally lifting a gentle hand and settling it reassuringly on her friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry," she told her, quietly. "I'm sorry things turned out this way."

Liara faltered at the sentiment, sucking gently on her lower lip, before her gaze finally turned up towards Shepard, her blue eyes misty as she took a shuddering breath. "Shepard," she breathed, quietly, shaking her head. "I…" She paused again, her gentle voice trailing off, before finally taking another deep breath, her expression hardening, difficult to read. "Nobody could have predicted Cerberus would reach Thessia before us," she acknowledged, solemnly. "It's not your fault."

Shepard frowned, giving a deep huff of breath, her hand falling away from Liara's shoulder as she turned her attention back towards the slowly-spinning hologram of the Crucible. "It's my job to be prepared, no matter what," she answered, shaking her head, obstinate. "And now Thessia is lost, along with the data on the Catalyst. I'm sick of Cerberus beating us to the punch!"

"Let's kick them in the balls first for a change," Vega agreed, eagerly, causing Shepard to look up at him, pleasantly surprised by his enthusiasm.

"I'm with James," she announced, pushing herself away from the war hub and folding her arms across her chest. "Anyone know where they're hiding? Anyone?"

An awkward silence filled the war room as everyone tried to think if they had any relevant information, until, finally, Traynor lifted a tentative hand, tensing as she felt every pair of eyes in the room turn suddenly towards her. "Um, well… there is something," she said, quietly, barely loud enough for Shepard to hear her.

"Let's hear it, Traynor," Shepard prompted.

Reaching forward towards the war console, Traynor typed a few quick commands into the hub computer before taking a step back and watching as a holographic diagram of her work suddenly popped up in the place of the Crucible model. She watched as a tiny blue shuttle pinged its way across a digital map, moving from one relay point to the next before suddenly vanishing as soon as it reached the last one. "I was able to track Kai Leng's shuttle through the relay and extrapolate his destination," she explained, pointing towards the diagram, which had started its loop from the beginning again, repeating its trajectory over and over. "But… the signal disappeared in the Iera System."

"Naturally," Shepard sighed, discouraged.

"It's not just gone, though," Traynor rectified, looking up, gaining momentum the further she explained. "The signal is just being actively blocked."

"How?" Shepard asked, frowning as she leaned in towards the hub again, watching the little blue shuttle bounce from point to point across the map.

"I'm not sure," Traynor admitted, taking another step back to study the diagram as well, thoughtful. "But something is interfering with all signal activity in that region of space."

"Commander, the Iera System is home to Sanctuary and little else," EDI informed her, matter-of-factly. "Sanctuary is a supposed safe haven for war refugees."

At this, Shepard paused, considering this information. "You think it's worth checking out, Traynor?" she finally asked, turning her attention up towards the young yeoman again.

Traynor hesitated a moment, surprised at being asked her opinion, before quickly smiling back, her dark eyes lighting up at the prospect of her work being put to good use. "Yes, ma'am," she answered, shortly, giving a sharp nod in return. "I do."

"If Specialist Traynor hadn't examined the data so astutely, the interference would have been undetectable," EDI put in, causing Traynor to look up at her in surprise, a hot red blush rising to her ears and face.

"Nice work, Traynor," Shepard acknowledged, causing Traynor to blush even darker, tucking her hands behind her back as she stared intently down at the floor, self-conscious and flattered. "You've given us a shot. Now let's make sure we don't waste it."

* * *

Shepard lingered warily at the threshold of the vidcomm room, staring in at the incoming message light flashing on the console. Traynor had informed her that Anderson had requested an audience with her, and while she knew full well she had no reason to fear that little indicator, every muscle in her body seemed unwilling to comprehend, leaving her frozen in place, unable to move, watching the little button flash. The last time she had pressed that button, it had been to inform Councillor Tevos that her entire planet had been decimated by Reapers, and while she knew that this was not going to be anything like that – Anderson likely just wanted to check up on her, to see if she was doing all right – the painful memory still hung like a thick, toxic fog in the vidcomm room, making it difficult for Shepard to even will herself to go inside.

"You're being ridiculous," Shepard breathed, frowning, steeling her expression. Then, taking a last deep breath, she passed through the doorway into the vidcomm room, crossing to the console and pressing the flashing indicator. She watched as the blue holographic image of Anderson flickered into life before her in the pit, taking a moment to solidify before the Admiral turned his kind, observant gaze on her. He paused a moment, considering Shepard, before offering her a small, sad smile of greeting, but the smile quickly faded away, replaced instead by a look of grim concern. Tucking his hands behind his back, Anderson gave a soft, tired huff of breath.

"Shepard," he addressed her, solemnly. "I heard about Thessia. I'm… sorry."

"We were so close, Anderson," Shepard told him, her voice wavering as she shook her head, clenching her fists in her hoodie pockets. "So _damn_ close to ending this war."

"You didn't think it'd be that easy, did you?" Anderson asked, pointedly, causing her to look up at him again, taken aback.

"I knew going into it there wouldn't be a minute of this war that was easy," she answered, honestly. Then, turning away from the vidcomm pit, she shifted her gaze to the far wall of the comm room, not wanting him to see her expression waver again. "But watching Thessia fall… and knowing it was my responsibility…"

"Shepard, do you know how many times I got my ass handed to me over the years?" Anderson insisted, earnestly, doing his best to bring her back around. "Surviving the first Contact War back in the day was a goddamn miracle. They said I was a hero, but I… just felt lucky to get out alive." Pausing then, he frowned, before taking a step forward towards her in the vidcomm pit and pointing an indicative, challenging finger in her direction. "So maybe Kai Leng did beat you," he told her, matter-of-factly. "What of it?"

"It could cost us the war," Shepard answered, harshly, realizing only too late how severe her tone was.

"These guys are the resistance," Anderson assured her, not even seeming to notice her hard tone, or not to mind it. "They know it's a losing proposition. They know the chances of seeing tomorrow are slim to none. But we all signed up anyway. Hell, I'm sitting in London right now staring at rubble. I was born here… and it's looking like I might die here, too. So I say point us at the Reapers and we'll take our chances."

"You'll make it, Anderson," Shepard assured him, turning back around to face him again. "And when this is all over, you can show me London."

Anderson chuckled, the sound weak in his chest, but deep and sincere nonetheless. "It might need a new coat of paint first," he told her, jokingly.

Shepard gave an equally weak chuckle in response, moving up towards the vidcomm pit again and tucking her hands back in her pockets. It did not take long for the laughter to die out, however, and she soon found herself staring down into the vidcomm pit in thoughtful, uneasy silence, considering whether to continue talking or let the conversation go at that. "Anderson," she finally spoke up again, looking up at the hologram, apprehensively. "I… have a question. It's kind of a personal question, and I don't really know if you'll have an answer – and if you don't, that's okay, but… I thought… I should ask anyway."

"I'm not sure I'm the best person for this kind of question," Anderson told her, half-jokingly. "I barely know which sock goes on which foot most days. But I'll see if I can help you out. No harm in trying, after all."

Shepard bit her lip, nervous to ask her question now that she was actually getting around to it. "I was just… wondering," she finally told him, speaking slowly. "Why you and Kahlee Sanders decided to dedicate yourselves to the war instead of having children. Especially since… I know you said you wanted them, and you seem like you'd be such a good father. No offense intended… Sir."

"None taken," Anderson answered, fairly, offering her a thin, sad smile. Then, taking in a deep breath, he lifted his gaze, thoughtful, considering how best to answer her. "You're wondering why we decided against it, even knowing our time was so limited," he observed, astutely. "And it's true that we were never spring chickens – at least, not while we were together. We had a very small window of opportunity for having children, and we _wanted_ to take advantage of it, we did, but, unfortunately…" Here, he paused, his brow furrowing, thoughtful, considering how best to explain his decision. "Well, things got tough, with the Alliance," he finally told her, his dark gaze returning to her face, frank. "And we had to choose one or the other. It just seemed selfish to pick children when the Alliance needed me so much and Grissom was just starting to get on its feet."

"So you decided that the galaxy's needs outweighed your own?" Shepard asked, frowning faintly, focused on his words. "The selfless act was the more important one, even knowing you might not get the chance to do what you wanted to do for yourselves if you went down that path?"

"That about sums it up," Anderson agreed, giving a soft, telling exhale. "Albeit a bit poetic. But – just because that was the best option for me and Kahlee doesn't mean it's the best option for everyone. Take our decision with a grain of salt, Shepard. We weren't nearly as young as you are, but even so, there might not always be time to do everything you want to do. Don't take time for granted. It has a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it." Shepard nodded, understanding, dropping her gaze to the floor again. "And, Shepard…" Anderson suddenly added, causing her to look up again, attentive. Shepard watched as Anderson shifted from one foot to the other in the vidcomm pit, glancing once over his shoulder, as if to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation. "Admiral Hackett tells me you've been having some… difficulties, lately," he finally told her, turning to face her again and speaking just loudly enough for her to hear him. "Skipping doctor's appointments. Not sleeping well. Barely eating. All of Doctor Chakwas' reports that I've seen have been… troublesome, at best."

"I'm doing okay, Anderson," Shepard lied, quickly, reaching up a hand to rub distractedly at the back of her neck. "Just… stressed, is all. What with the disaster on Thessia, and the hit-and-miss information about the Catalyst…"

"Understandable," Anderson returned, offering her a short, sympathetic nod. "Even so, you can understand why I would be worried, can't you? You're the best soldier the Alliance has. If anything were to happen to you…" He paused, frowning, cutting himself short, before finally letting out a deep, overworked sigh. "I respect your need for privacy, Shepard," he told her, raising his thick brows, earnestly. "I do. Lord knows none of us get enough of it, especially in times like these. But…" He hesitated again, faltering, his lips drawing into a hard, thoughtful line as a thin, worried exhale escaped him. "If something is going on," he finally told her, speaking slower and more solemnly, making sure she understood. "Something you don't feel comfortable talking to Doctor Chakwas about – hell, even if it's something you don't feel comfortable talking to me about… I just want you to promise me you'll be careful. Don't do anything unnecessarily rash. I'd rather you come to me for help with an embarrassing situation than get hurt trying to keep whatever it is out of the Alliance's eye."

"Yes, sir," Shepard told him, honestly, giving a sharp nod of confirmation in return.

"Good," Anderson answered, offering her a nod in response. "Good. And, Shepard?" He hesitated again, one hand moving up to his mouth, the calloused knuckle of his index finger resting pensively against his lips as he thought. Then, letting his hand fall back to his side again, he took in another deep, earnest breath. "I just wanted you to know," he told her, fairly. "I might be your superior, but I'm also your friend. I care about you as a person, not just as a soldier, and I'd much rather put my career on the line than you your life. You understand that, don't you?"

At this, Shepard faltered, taken aback. All throughout her Alliance career, Anderson had looked out for her wellbeing, making sure she was treated fairly and given due credit for her accomplishments, but to be willing to risk dishonourable discharge to make sure she was doing all right was above and beyond the call of duty, even for him. Still, she made an effort to keep her expression as impassive as possible as she nodded again, clearing her throat gently as she did so. "Yes, sir," she repeated, quieter this time. Then, taking a deep breath in, she held it, thinking, before letting it out in a long, low sigh. "With any luck, this will all be over soon," she told him, changing the subject.

"It better," Anderson returned, giving a soft, weary exhale as he reached up to massage his aching shoulder. "Shake this off, Shepard."

"I will," Shepard answered, giving an assured nod in return.

"All right, then," Anderson told her, satisfied, offering her a small, sad, reassuring smile. "Anderson out."

* * *

It took several more days for the Normandy to reach the Iera System, which gave Shepard time to go over her and Anderson's conversation in the comm room. Though she had never expected the final decision concerning her baby to be easy, the information she had gotten from Anderson, while sensible, had done almost nothing to help. The decision had been so much easier near the start, before she had allowed it time to settle into her mind and instil a sense of doubt. Now she had no idea what she wanted to do anymore. She knew full well that neither the War nor her child was going to simply wait around for her to make up her mind, and that she could not realistically continue doing both. She also knew that her convictions towards motherhood were tentative at best, and if Anderson, who had actually wanted children and would have made a wonderful father for them, had given up his opportunity to do so to continue serving the Alliance, it felt selfish on her part not to do the same.

The thought had been quickly pushed from her mind as soon Joker had announced their imminent approach of Horizon over the intercom, and she had hastily made her way up to her cabin to begin getting ready for the mission. She had already laid her armour out on the bedspread by the time Liara made her way up to the Commander's quarters to help her fit into it, and she stood with her hand resting absentmindedly on her stomach as she considered it, chewing distractedly on her lower lip as she scanned over the pieces, thoughtfully. "I'm thinking about a colour change," she commented, not even bothering to look up as Liara approached from behind her, curious. "I've been wearing this grey-black for so long that it's starting to feel… outdated, almost. Kind of stale." Reaching down to the bed, she picked up the breastplate of her armour, turning to face Liara and holding it up to her chest.

"What do you think?" she asked. "Would a different colour look better on me? I feel… antsy, for some reason. I just need some kind of change. What do you think about red?"

"Well, red would certainly make you more visible," Liara offered, helpfully. "But if you want my opinion on the matter, I think you should just stick with grey-black. It's your signature look, one, and two, it's also kind of, well…" She faltered, nibbling anxiously at her plum lower lip as she tried to think of a tactful way to say what she was thinking. "…Slimming," she finally finished, frankly.

Shepard paused at this admission, staring at Liara, before letting out a sigh and tossing the breastplate back to the bedspread. "Yeah," she agreed. "You're right. I'll keep it the way it is. Lord knows I need all the slimming I can get." Then, letting out a tired, horse-like huff of breath, she sat down on the bed beside the displayed armour, stretching her legs out in front of her to observe her swollen toes. Liara moved over to the bed as well, lowering herself gently beside Shepard on the bedspread and watching as Shepard turned her attention dourly down towards the protruding curve pushing out from under her thin undershirt. "You know… I can _feel_ it," she suddenly spoke up, making a face as she lifted a hand, letting it hover, seeming hesitant to even touch her stomach. "I was able to kind of, y'know, _ignore it_ before, but now…"

"You can feel it kicking?" Liara asked.

Shaking her head, Shepard slowly and tentatively slid her hand across the surface of her stomach until it came to rest underneath, supporting the curve. "I can feel it in my lap," she said, her tone as if she were being forced to hold a particularly slimy lump of seaweed in her bare hands. "My stomach. I can feel it… pressing against my lap when I sit. I can feel it on my thighs. It's…" Running the pad of her thumb along the curvature of her abdomen, she grimaced, feeling how round she had become without even realizing it. "I don't like it," she finished, giving another short, frustrated sigh. "It feels terrible. I feel _enormous_."

"Well, you're hardly _enormous_ ," Liara assured her, supportively. "Would it make you feel better if I were to measure you, tell you how much you've actually grown since leaving Earth?"

" _God_ , no," Shepard answered quickly, looking up at Liara again, mortified, as she pulled her hand away from her stomach, moving it instead to rest beside her on the bed. "If I hear for a fact that I've gotten more than four inches bigger around since leaving Earth I might actually cry."

"It would probably be closer to five at this point," Liara estimated, quietly, just barely loud enough for Shepard to hear. "Maybe six. But – that's just an estimate! I don't know for sure unless I measure you. To be honest, it's really not that noticeable, especially when you're wearing armour. I'm probably overestimating."

"That doesn't really make me feel better, Liara," Shepard told her, frustrated, getting to her feet and turning to pick up her undersuit off the bed. Stepping into the stiff bodysuit, she pulled it up to her neck, sliding her arms into the sleeves before folding them up to her wrists. "Help me zip," she instructed, reaching back to push her hair out of the way. Quickly getting to her feet as well, Liara pulled the zipper smoothly up the Commander's back as Shepard took a deep breath in, faltering only momentarily at the waistline before pulling it the rest of the way to the top. Satisfied with a job well done, Shepard let her breath out again, turning back to the bed to start putting on the rest of the armour she had laid out across it.

"New undersuit?" Liara asked, picking up one of the pieces and handing it over to be put on.

"Men's cut," Shepard answered, taking the upper-arm guard from Liara and sliding it into place on her body, tightening the straps before locking it in and reaching for the next piece. "Still women's armour, though. Haven't gotten too big for that yet, thank god. It's a little snug, but I'm going to keep using it as long as it still fits." Pulling the straps securely tight on her forearm guard, she gave a soft grunt, locking it firmly in place before reaching for the elbow-guard that hinged the two parts together. Liara watched her pull her armour on, chewing again thoughtfully on her lower lip as her eyes dropped to Shepard's stomach, debating whether or not to say what she was thinking. Then, taking a short, soft breath in, she turned her attention up towards Shepard's face again.

"Maybe you should think about… sitting this one out, Shepard," she told her, speaking quietly, just loud enough to get Shepard's attention. "For your baby's sake. I know you're doing this so people won't know you're pregnant, but you said yourself you wanted to keep it, so maybe… maybe it's time to stop and tell everyone the truth. Before something happens, and you really hurt yourself or your baby. Or both of you."

Shepard faltered at this logic, irritated by Liara's gentle honeysuckle tone, before turning her attention towards Liara and frowning, her expression hard. "I wish you would stop telling me to do that," she told her, giving a sharp, frustrated huff of breath. "You know I can't skip out on these missions. You _know_ that."

"I know," Liara answered, quickly. "But, after what happened on Thessia, with Kai Leng… I don't know that it's advisable for you to go up against him again. Not just for your physical health, but for your baby's as well." Hesitating again, her painted brow furrowed deeper, concerned, her anxious fidgeting growing more noticeable as she took another, deeper breath in, preparing to speak again. "You tired out so quickly during the last fight…" she told Shepard, worriedly. "It's just… if it hadn't been for Kai Leng calling in the gunship to destroy the temple, he very well may have killed you back there."

At this, Shepard gave a short, sharp snort of a bitter, humourless laugh. "Isn't that ironic," she said, flexing her armoured glove to make sure she could move her hand in it. "If he hadn't cheated, he might have won. He probably _would_ have won."

"I don't know about that," Liara admitted, haltingly. "All I know is that that fight took a lot out of you, and if you exert yourself too much, you could very well send yourself into—"

"Premature labour," Shepard answered, solemnly, looking up towards Liara again. "I know. You warned me about that before, back when we were going after the Leviathan. Down in the mining tunnels. But – how exactly do you suggest I bow out of this mission, Liara? Sorry, everyone, I can't go on the mission to Sanctuary because I'm…?"

"Sick?" Liara began to suggest, but seemed to realize halfway through how bad a suggestion it was, as the word quickly died in her mouth before it even had a chance to finish leaving her lips.

"Oh, yeah," Shepard scoffed, grabbing up the second upper-arm guard off the bed. "That's a great idea, Liara. A full medical physical examination is _exactly_ what I need right now."

"You really should get it checked out soon," Liara suggested, pointedly, taking the upper-arm guard from Shepard's hands to help her slide it securely into place. "It's important for you to take extra special care to make sure you're doing what needs to be done for it to be healthy and safe—"

"I know what I need to do," Shepard snapped, cutting her off, sharply. Then, catching her bad mood, she stopped, letting out a low, steadying breath as she sat down on the bed again, running a tired, frustrated hand back through her hair. "I'm sorry," she apologized, softly. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I just… I don't know if what I'm doing is the right thing. That's all." Letting out another soft sigh, she leaned forward a bit, crossing her arms self-consciously across her waist as she looked up, her gaze distant as she stared distractedly at a spot on the nearby wall. "I don't mean to keep going back and forth on this," she said, frowning faintly, feeling Liara's eyes on her, intent, as an unspoken, held-breath tension began to slowly grow in the space between them. "I really thought, after Thessia… but then I talked to Anderson, and… now I'm just not so sure anymore."

"What did Anderson have to say about it?" Liara asked, tentative.

"Nothing," Shepard admitted, shaking her head. "I didn't ask him about it directly. But just the thought of me being a mother, taking care of a baby…" She paused, her frown deepening, considering this for a moment, before she finally turned her gaze up towards Liara, intent. "There are so many people out there who deserve this opportunity so much more than I do, Liara," she told her, decisively. "Who _want_ this opportunity. But me? I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't plan for it to happen, I didn't want it to happen… I'm not even any good with babies. I'm just not a baby person, you know? I freeze up around babies. They scare the living daylights out of me. So to have one of my own would be…" She trailed off, taking a deep breath as she shook her head again, wetting her suddenly strangely dry lips. "Cruel," she finished. "It would be cruel. There are so many other, better people out there who never get this chance. To take it just because I can, knowing I can't provide the same quality of life for her that they would, if they could… it's… evil."

"You could always put her up for adoption," Liara suggested, raising her painted brows, hopefully.

At this suggestion, Shepard looked up again, surprised. Then, giving a harsh, almost unintentional scoff, she shook her head again, uncrossing her arms as she reached across the bed for the next piece of armour to put on. "Put her up for adoption, Liara?" she asked, closing the thigh guard she had picked up around her upper leg and strapping it securely into place. "Are you serious?"

"What's wrong with adoption?" Liara challenged, frowning faintly. "I'm sure there are plenty of families out there who would be thrilled to have your baby. The baby of Commander Shepard, hero of the Alliance."

"Sure, if that was all there was to it," Shepard returned, frankly, reaching for the second thigh guard to fit into place over her leg. "But it's not. Do you know what any parent who adopted this baby would be signing up for? Unknown, endless medical expenses for the rest of the child's life, however short that might be… neverending hurtful and insensitive questions, incessant bigotry and social stigma…" Pausing in putting her armour on, she rested a moment, overwhelmed and out of breath, feeling her heart tightening in her chest as if someone had reached inside and squeezed it. "It's not fair," she finally said, clearing her throat as she reached under her bed for her armoured boots, willing her voice not to crack. "It wouldn't be fair to the parents, and it wouldn't be fair to the child. There's enough pain and suffering in this world already, Liara. I just don't see a reason I need to add to it."

"Hey, Commander," Joker's cheerful voice suddenly crackled over the intercom, causing both Shepard and Liara to look up, pausing in the middle of pulling on Shepard's hefty boots. "Just letting you know we're closing in on Sanctuary. Thought I'd give you a little head's up to get your ground team gathered and down to the hangar." Turning to look at Liara again, Shepard raised her brows, and Liara gave a short nod of silent agreement in return. "Cortez told me he's all set with the Kodiak and ready to go when you are," Joker continued, helpful. "Just waiting on you, Commander. Whenever you're ready."

"Tell Cortez I'll be right down as soon as I finish suiting up," Shepard told him, returning her attention to her armoured boot. "And tell Thane to meet me down in the hangar."

"Will do, Commander," Joker returned, assuredly, before cutting off the comm link and leaving them alone once more.

"Are you certain you want to bring Thane to Sanctuary?" Liara asked, fidgeting distractedly with the hem of her lab coat as she watched Shepard pull her second hefty boot out from under the bed and onto her foot, locking it into place. "His last run-in with Kai Leng was… close. Too close."

"Which is why I think he'd be the best person to come with us to Sanctuary," Shepard answered, matter-of-factly, pushing herself back to her feet again. Picking up her abdominal guard from the bed, she pressed it flat against her protruding stomach, tightening it as far as she dared, allowing herself just enough room to breathe. "Give Leng a taste of his own medicine. Make him face up to his failures."

"And possibly kill Thane this time around in the process," Liara pointed out.

"Well, who do _you_ think I should bring, Liara?" Shepard asked, trying not to sound frustrated as she pulled her breastplate on over her head, snapping it into place over her abdominal plate and tightening the straps securely. She tried to ignore how hard the abdominal plate was pressing up against the base of the breastplate, but she could feel it straining every time she took a deep breath. Picking up her daunting hip-guard, she stared at it for a moment, considering it, before turning towards Liara again and offering it over to her for help. "I'm open to suggestions," she added, letting out a grunt of effort as they forced the hip-guard snugly into place against the abdominal guard, making sure it aligned correctly with the thigh-guards as well. "Anyone but Javik will be fine."

* * *

Shepard stared across the Kodiak at her ground team, her lips drawn into a taut, thin line as she watched the two of them sitting as far apart on the shuttle's bench as they could possibly manage. Liara was staring determinedly at a spot on the far wall of the shuttle, her hands folded together thoughtfully in her lap, one thumb rotating over the other as she took soft, pensive breaths in, saying nothing, hoping to avoid conflict. Javik, however, did not seem quite as concerned with avoiding confrontation, as he had spent the entire trip since leaving the Normandy staring back at Shepard, unspeaking, barely moving, and only blinking when he absolutely had to. The Kodiak gave a rumble as it passed through into Horizon's atmosphere, causing the three of them to clutch at their surroundings to steady themselves, Liara and Javik taking hold of the edge of the bench as Shepard grabbed for the overhead handlebar, but the shuttle was quick to settle again, allowing the three of them to return to the same uncomfortable silence as before, interrupted only by the soft crackling sound of the jammed radio from the Kodiak's controls.

"Incredible," Javik suddenly spoke up, breaking the silence for the first time, causing both Shepard and Liara to look up at him, surprised.

Shepard hesitated, debating whether or not to humour him. She was not entirely certain she wanted to know what he was talking about, but at the same time, ignoring him had never seemed to work well for her in the past. "What's incredible?" she asked, warily, her brow furrowing even deeper, preparing herself for something blunt, needling, and insensitive.

Javik blinked, his expression impassive, as if purposefully ignoring her vitriol. "The way that your armour fits," he informed her, speaking evenly, almost matter-of-factly. "It is incredible. One might even call it impressive… all things considered."

Shepard faltered, taken aback, not entirely sure she trusted this sudden, almost uncomfortably nice side to Javik she had never really seen before. "Thanks, Javik," she finally told him, haltingly.

"Do not thank me," Javik answered, bluntly, baring the tips of his teeth as he let out a sharp, disapproving scoff. "I am not complimenting you. Humans are so vain. What is impressive is that you can still fit into it, considering how fat you have let yourself become. It is nothing short of a miracle. Thus, incredible."

"I—" Shepard started to respond, but quickly cut herself short, sucking in a sharp breath and pursing her lips, stubborn. She knew full well that Javik was simply trying to get under her skin, and that reacting in turn would only work to feed the fire of his vitriol. This had been exactly the reason she had not wanted to bring him along in the first place, but Liara had insisted, telling her that he was the only other person on the ship with the fighting experience they needed on Horizon, as well as the knowledge needed to help them complete the mission with little to no 'unspoken' incident.

"What do we know, Shepard?" Liara asked, quickly changing the subject, getting to her feet as well and reaching up to take hold of one of the safety bars. "About Sanctuary, I mean. What information do we have so far?"

Shepard paused, turning her attention towards Liara, still somewhat torn. Then, letting out a low, hard sigh, she shook her head, clearing it, before quickly returning her train of thought to the mission at hand, determined not to let Javik's provoking get to her any more than it already had. "EDI?" she prompted, turning her attention towards the screen built into the wall of the Kodiak, causing Liara and Javik to do the same. "What do we know?"

"The Sanctuary facility was devoted to aiding refugees from Reaper-controlled systems," EDI informed them, helpfully, flashing a slideshow of what appeared to be promotional images of the compound's various amenities across the in-shuttle screen. "The facility went offline recently and no communications have come or gone since. It is unclear why Kai Leng or Cerberus would be interested in Sanctuary."

"If there's a clue to Cerberus here, we find it," Shepard returned, determinedly, turning her attention away from the screen again as the shuttle gave another light rattle, causing her to reach for a handlebar as well.

"Ma'am, I'm picking up a signal from the facility," Cortez reported, causing Shepard to look up in his direction, intrigued. "It's weak, but I'll try to boost it." Tapping a few buttons on his digital display, Cortez frowned, his brow furrowing in concentration as he attempted to clean up the incoming message as best he could before allowing it to play across the shuttle's radio speakers for the rest of the crew to hear.

"This is Oriana Lawson," the transmission fizzled, barely discernible over the loud, obscuring sound of white noise. "Stay away from Sanctuary! It's not what it seems! Please, you must listen to me – they're using—" But whatever else the message had been about to say was cut suddenly short by the harsh, crackling sound of static, drowning out Oriana's voice and leaving them just as empty-handed as when they had started.

"Oriana?" Shepard asked, frowning, troubled. "That's Miranda's sister. If she's here, Miranda can't be far away."

"That's our link to Cerberus," EDI agreed over the intercom.

"Approaching the LZ," Cortez informed them, glancing once over his shoulder to make sure the ground party was ready to go. "I'm seeing some damage, Commander, but no activity."

Shepard frowned, wary, her free hand reaching back over her shoulder almost subconsciously to touch the butt of her waiting Marauder as her grip on the overhead safety bar tightened anxiously. The Kodiak gave one last tilting lurch as Cortez manoeuvred it in close to the entrance of the facility, allowing it to hover just low enough to the ground let his passengers depart safely. "Cerberus does _not_ get the jump on us this time," Shepard told her crew, firmly, turning to glance back at both of them as the door of the shuttle unsealed and opened with a low, hydraulic hiss. "Stay sharp, people."

"Will do," Liara agreed, offering her a solemn nod in return.


	27. WEEK SIXTEEN, Pt.2

If Sanctuary had ever been as beautiful as the photographs EDI had shown them on board the Kodiak, it was difficult to imagine. Whatever pristine, welcoming structures and gardens had once adorned the entryway courtyard had been completely destroyed, decimated and burned by whatever had come before Shepard and her team's arrival, leaving nothing but smouldering rubble in its wake, the last lonely remains of a proud facility. "Look at all this destruction," Liara breathed, her brow furrowing as she looked around the piazza, shaken by the blackened wreckage that littered the once-immaculate landscape. "Somebody must have been fighting here before we came."

"Yeah," Shepard agreed, frowning, wary. "But who was fighting?" Just then, a loud, electronic _pop_ sounded from her in-ear comm, causing her to flinch at the noise before the comm returned to level radio static, buzzing noisily as it attempted to pick up Cortez's signal, and then, once that failed, the Normandy's. Reaching a hand up to her in-ear comm, she tapped it, trying to get the static to clear, but to no avail. The comm let out another garbled squeal, followed by a few sharp clicks, before returning to loud, piercing white noise. "Everyone hear that?" Shepard asked, trying not to wince at the noise as she turned down the volume on the comm, leaving it just loud enough to hear in case a signal did manage to get through.

"Yes," Javik confirmed, baring his teeth, annoyed, as he reached up to turn down the volume of his comm as well. "The radio is offline. Something is jamming our signals."

"Explains no comms leaving the facility," Shepard agreed, returning her grip to her weapon and tightening her hold on it, warily.

"Shepard, look!" Liara suddenly gasped, reaching forward to grab hold of Shepard's arm and yanking her back just in time for her to look up and see a small white shuttle spiralling out of the sky above Sanctuary. Smoke and flames billowed from its engines as it plummeted, its landing gear shrieking with effort, sputtering with useless blue energy as the shuttle careened out of control, its dizzying descent stopping only when it finally made contact with the tiered wall of the facility barely yards from where Shepard and her team stood. The facility wall crumbled under the fiery impact, forcing the shuttle to the ground, and before the shuttle team had time to react, the wall collapsed in on itself, burying the vehicle under a devastating mound of concrete. A few last flames flickered weakly out from underneath the rubble as billowing pillars of smoke rose into the sky from the crash, and when Shepard looked up towards the roof again, it was to see a satisfied-looking Harvester watching over the spectacle, inspecting its work. Its ragged wings were half-furled, its claw-like appendages hanging morbidly over the side of the building's roof as it waited to see if anything had survived the collision into the side of the building, but then, seeming satisfied that its quarry was taken care of, the massive creature spread its wings, launching itself from the roof of the building with a deep, electronic-sounding trill.

"A Harvester," Javik breathed, startled, his four eyes widening as he pulled his weapon in closer to his chest, ready to fight. The Harvester, however, seemed to have no interest in the ground party, instead passing over their heads and away from the entrance, heading towards something else more interesting on the other side of the facility.

"I saw it," Shepard confirmed, watching the massive Reaper creature grow smaller the further into the distance it flew. Just then, a yellow-hot bullet of energy whizzed past her shoulder, causing her to jump back, startled, before bringing up her weapon and ducking for the nearest cover. "Phantoms!" she called to her party, flinching as another plasma bullet hummed past her, this one further off than the last. "Near the doors!"

"We got this!" Liara assured her, peering around the edge of their cover and letting off a few sure, ringing shots. From a few feet away, Shepard could hear Javik doing the same, his frustrated grunts whenever he missed a shot just audible over the sound of the gunfire. It did not take long for the sound of return gunfire to cease, and Shepard moved warily to the edge of their cover, peering around the side to check if any more enemies were waiting for them to emerge, holding their fire until they caught a glimpse of some sign of movement. Seeing no waiting ambush, she quickly got to her feet, gripping her weapon close to her chest as she moved over towards where the Phantoms had been, her gait slowing as she reached the two white-clad corpses now strewn across the entryway near the facility doors.

"Looks like they were evacuating," Javik observed, using the toe of his boot to turn one Phantom's head, trying to see her face through her plexiglass helmet mask. A spiderweb crack had spread out from where a single plasma shot had burned a fatal hole through the agent's face, but apart from that, nothing could be seen past the tinted sheen of the Cerberus combat helmet.

"And it looks like the Reapers were pursuing them," Liara added, turning her attention back towards the adjoining rooftops to make sure the Harvester had not returned while they had been distracted fighting the Phantoms.

"About time they started killing each other," Shepard commented, darkly. Then, stepping over the second Phantom corpse, she made her way over towards the access console near the thick, marked double-door of the facility, pulling up the access control and beginning to override the code. It did not take long for the system to accept her override, and the doors of the facility slid smoothly open to allow the ground party access inside. Gripping her weapon at the ready, Shepard led the way inside the facility, taking a quick look around to make sure they were not walking into an ambush, but it seemed that whatever might have been waiting for them had already been taken care of before their arrival, leaving nothing but stark destruction in its wake. The enormous ornamental potted plants posted in every corner had been broken at the stems, trampled and burned. Every piece of furniture in the facility that was not welded to the floor had been overturned, the glass-panelled walls of the human resources enclosures smashed, their computers ripped from their stations and demolished. A small fire crackled from a blackened hole in the floor near the entryway doors, while another, larger fire burned more brightly in the middle of the parquet, seemingly fuelled by the white-yellow sparks dripping from a ragged, severed camera cable.

"Welcome to Sanctuary," a smooth electronic female voice cooed over the intercom, the forcibly gentle, reassuring tone causing the hair on the back of Shepard's neck to stand on end. She felt her hand curl subconsciously into a fist at her side as she scanned the facility, looking for any clue as to where the people who might normally have occupied this unnervingly deserted check-in point might have gone. "For your safety, communication devices are strictly forbidden. New arrivals are encouraged to aid those having trouble with registration."

"What happened here?" Javik asked, frowning, the eerie facility clearly setting him on edge despite his best attempts to appear unaffected. Shepard could only shake her head, just as confused as he was.

"I don't know," she answered, honestly. "Come on. Let's look around." She started to move forward into the facility lobby again, but the sound of shuttle engines suddenly caught her attention, causing her to stop short, looking up towards the ceiling and raising a hand to shade her eyes against the sunlight glinting across the bulletproof glass. She watched in guarded interest as two Cerberus-issue shuttles passed overhead, heading away from the facility, before turning her attention back to the entryway, making sure no Cerberus agents had entered while they had been distracted.

"More Cerberus," Liara commented, startled, gripping her gun close to her chest. Then, looking back towards Shepard again, she pointed to the next building over, barely visible through the glass-panelled ceiling. "They came from that tower," she told her, observant.

"Then that's where we're headed," Shepard confirmed.

"Upon arrival, all personal belongings must be submitted to our sorting staff for inspection," the smooth female voice continued, causing another unsettling twinge as Shepard made her way towards what appeared to be the main desk of the reception hall, a raised, glass-gated platform with a single, large computer screen facing away from the rest of the room. The station had been left oddly untouched by the rest of the carnage, but Shepard did not stop to question it, instead moving up behind the desk and tapping the console screen, turning it on and watching as it fizzled into life, the display switching from one backlogged vid file to the next in rapid succession. "They will be returned inside the compound. Be advised – communications devices will not function within Sanctuary."

"Security camera footage," Liara observed, coming to stand behind Shepard at the desk and peering over her shoulder at the computer screen, intrigued. Javik moved in around the other side of Shepard, just as interested, watching as she pressed a button on the keypad, causing it to move between the backlogged vids on command. The videos were disquieting, even in their silent, grainy greyscale, showing image after image of large groups of people being lined up, weeded out, and herded through the polished hallways like blind cattle. "That must be the place where they sorted out refugees," Liara commented, pointing to one of the video logs, causing Shepard to pause on it momentarily. "That's certainly a lot of people."

"Yeah," Shepard agreed, frowning as she turned the console off again, unsettled. "Come on. Let's keep looking."

"For faster registration, please follow the instructions of Sanctuary staff," the female voice prompted, causing Shepard to look up towards the intercom system, disconcerted. The juxtaposition between the cheerful voice and the blackened, deserted wreckage of the facility was making her almost sick to her stomach with anxiety. While the instructions the voice were giving seemed simple enough on the surface, the longer she listened to what was actually being said, the more she could not help but feel that the facility was less of a tranquil refuge and more of a secluded prison ward. Making her way around a large flight of stairs, she skirted the edge of the hallway, passing through what appeared to be a cramped setup of office desks lined up in such a way that they formed almost an enclosure of their own, leaving no part of the hall unwatched from the vantage point of at least one of the desks. Most of the computer consoles had been ripped apart or smashed, but one or two still remained standing, and she quickly approached one, curious, before turning it on and accessing the most recent data log, allowing it to play.

"Incident report 2139," a stern male voice recounted, the sound wavering a bit as a stripe of static passed down the centre of the projected screen. "Another communication device nearly made it past pre-screening. Scanner software has been adjusted. No way it could penetrate the central scrambler, but we can't chance a signal leaving the planet. Report filed."

"Central scrambler," Shepard repeated, thoughtful.

"That would explain why we aren't getting any signal inside the facility," Liara agreed, musingly, coming up to stand behind Shepard at the desk. "We just have to find a way to shut off the central scrambler. That should help us regain radio contact."

"Easier said than done," Shepard returned, glancing back across the rows of desks, looking for some other clue. "We don't even know if the scrambler is in this building."

"With your help, Sanctuary is building a better tomorrow," the female voice purred over the intercom, oblivious.

Moving past Liara again, Shepard made her way towards another desk at the far end of the setup, where another facility computer had been left unbroken by the unexplained carnage. Accessing the holoscreen, she pulled up the last data log in the computer's memory, allowing it to play as well, hoping it might reveal something more concrete about the goings-on leading up to the apparent destruction of Sanctuary. "The number of refugees has doubled in the last two weeks," a young, troubled-sounding female voice reported, causing Shepard to frown at the news, disconcerted. "I heard people are still abandoning shuttles outside the main gate. They just… don't have anywhere to go. We'll need to start setting up temporary shelters out there until they can be processed."

"What kind of operation where they running here?" Shepard asked, more to herself than her companions, closing down the computer screen again and turning away from the processing desk.

"Not a very effective one, it seems," Javik returned, frankly.

"For your safety, no communication devices are allowed inside Sanctuary," the female voice prompted over the intercom again, causing Shepard to look up at the reminder, frustrated.

"I wish that would stop," she muttered, holstering her weapon in the maglock at her back. Moving out of the desk-lined enclosure, Shepard moved instead towards a downward-heading flight of stairs, careful to watch her step as she descended into the lower level of the entry hall. A bright white light flickered distractingly from somewhere off to their right, and when Shepard looked, she noticed the word 'SANCTUARY' emblazoned in the wall in enormous neon lettering, a stark, self-congratulatory reminder to any arriving refugees that they were there by the grace of the facility's proprietors alone. To the left, what had once been a sleek, polished landing pad was now littered with the mangled, smoking remnants of several passenger shuttles, all of which seemed to have been trying to land at the same time, contesting for the same precious space, only managing to destroy one another in the process.

"Another landing area," Javik observed, astutely. "More official, perhaps."

"Those ships we saw outside must have been waiting to get in," Liara added, sounding worried, almost distressed.

"But where are all the people they brought?" Shepard asked, her frown deepening, concerned. She flinched as her boot crunched down on a pile of broken bulletproof glass, trying not to notice the streaks and puddles of drying blood spattered across the landing site. A bruised and broken arm, covered in cuts, dangled from the dented door of one of the shuttles, an unlucky, trapped survivor's last ditch attempt to get out of the wreckage before the smoke or his injuries ultimately killed him. At least two of the vessels in the tangled wreckage were painted with Alliance symbols, likely hopeful arrivals from the evacuation of Earth, and as Shepard looked closer, she noticed a number of datapads strewn around the landing site, some broken beyond repair, but some still barely functional. "Got a fragment of something here," she called back to her crewmates, starting to bend down to pick up one of the pads, but before she could reach it, she grunted, her abdominal guard snapping, rigid, against her waist, preventing her from bending down, causing her hand to hang uselessly a foot or so above the datapad on the ground. Liara hurried over, intent on picking up the pad for her, but Shepard quickly held out a hand to stop her.

"I got this," she told her, shaking her head, determined. Crouching down to her knees, she scooped up the datapad, before attempting to push herself back up, only to find that the weight of distribution was working against her. Pushing back a hot, mortified blush, she reached up a hand towards Liara, taking hold of the hand offered her and using it to pull herself back to her feet again. "Need to readjust my armour," she muttered, embarrassed, tucking a lock of hair distractedly behind her ear, trying her hardest to draw attention away from her most recent, distressing faux pas. "Abdominal guard too tight. Need to… gotta fix that. When we get back." Then, accessing the datapad's recent memory, she pulled up the first audio file on the list, setting it to play as Liara and Javik moved up behind her to listen.

"I can't call right now but I'll send this as soon as I can," a young woman on the datapad recording spoke, sounding distressed. "My little girl got sick. That's why I left. I love you, but I have to take care of her." At this, Shepard looked up at Liara, her brow furrowing, her stomach clenching with worry. There had been no sign of a woman or a young girl on board the crashed Alliance shuttle, but she knew too well that that did not necessarily mean the two had gotten out of the crash or the facility unharmed. "The clinics were closing their doors to refugees," the female voice continued, worriedly, causing Shepard to turn her attention back to the datapad again. "I couldn't borrow credits from you. I don't know where I learned about Sanctuary… around, I guess? Seemed perfect… somewhere to hide, y'know? Just until she got better… I can see the place out the window. It's huge. They already have people waiting for us…"

"Poor thing," Liara commented, her painted brows pressing together as the recording ended.

"She never stood a chance," Javik added, solemnly.

Handing the datapad over to Liara, Shepard turned away from the wreckage, making her way instead towards the room on the other side of the stairs. Multiple bodies were strewn across the floor of the adjoining room, some civilian, some Cerberus, and some Reapertech, though it seemed that most of the casualties were Cerberus agents. Peering around the corner into the next room, Shepard reached for her weapon, ready for a fight, but, finding nothing but more dead bodies ahead, she let her hand drop back to her side again, feeling her sense of apprehension rising the longer they went without finding anyone else in the facility still alive. If everyone in Sanctuary were already dead, that meant that it was also possible that whatever had killed these Cerberus agents and civilians had also killed Miranda and Oriana, and that was a prospect Shepard simply did not want to think about.

"An observation deck," Javik commented, looking around at the room, intent. "Likely a dead end."

"We need an exit," Shepard told him, turning to leave the room again. "Keep looking." Moving around the lower-level stairs, she made her way towards a doorway at the far end of the landing floor, a dimly-lit room where the only light came from a series of computer screens lining the wall. Whatever signal had previously been fed through the screens had apparently been cut, as most of them showed nothing but blank, fuzzy white noise, but one computer in the corner flickered on and off, showing momentary glimpses of images similar to the promotional slideshow EDI had shown them in the Kodiak before going back to static again. "This is a Cerb…" the computer struggled, the communication coming through garbled and clipped, the familiar female voice warping as the signal died out again, cutting the message off short. "This is a Cerberus fac… this is a Cerb…"

"Shepard—!" Liara said, her breath catching in her throat, excited, as she recognized the voice on the recording.

"That's Miranda," Shepard agreed, just as enthused, moving over to the computer in the corner of the room. Using her omni-tool, she hacked into the computer's memory, overriding the error that was causing it to short out, before taking a step back and allowing the message to play.

"This is Miranda Lawson," the message reported, Mirada's voice firm and authoritative. "If you've managed to get this far, you must be desperate or stupid." Shepard faltered, taken aback, wondering who she was addressing that she was speaking to them so harshly, but she did not have time to figure it out before the message began again, seeming more urgent the longer it went on. "Listen to me – this is _not_ a refugee camp. This is a Cerberus facility run by my father, Henry Lawson. _Turn back now_. There is no help to be found here. All communication is being blocked from the central tower. Sanctuary is a lie. _Stay away_." As soon as the message finished playing, the computer flickered out again, returning to jumpy, faulty static, the communication becoming garbled once more as the signal blocker overrode it.

"Okay, so we've got Reapers, Cerberus, and Miranda's crazy father," Shepard sighed, turning away from the console to look back at her companions, frustrated. "Any ideas how this all fits?" Liara shook her head, but Javik did not even seem interested in the conversation anymore, instead peering through an opening at the far end of the dimly-lit room towards what looked to be a recreational area. Even from where they stood, they could detect the artificial scent of flowers being pumped in through the ventilation system, and as they got closer, the gentle sound of singing birds could be heard filtering in through the speakers hidden behind the large, flowering plants that lined every corner of the room. Shepard could tell that at least half the plants were fake, but that did not stop them from casting an almost peaceful aura over the recreational hall, with the massive, crystal-clear swimming pool sunk into the middle of the floor completing the artificial illusion of having stumbled upon a hidden jungle oasis.

Moving to the edge of the swimming pool, Shepard glanced down into its calm, mirrored surface, but quickly looked up again as an explosion reverberated from outside the facility, muted through the thick bulletproof walls, causing the surface of the water to ripple. Despite the disturbance, it did not take long for the pool to settle again, and when it finally did, she looked down again, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the surface and feeling a cold knot of panic tie itself tightly in her gut at the sight. "Oh my god," she whispered, mortified, turning to one side to get a better look at exactly how much she had grown. "I'm _huge_! Why did nobody tell me how big I'd gotten?!"

"I told you I would measure you if you wanted," Liara reminded her, apologetic, moving up to stand behind her at the pool. Shepard made a strangled noise of dismay as Liara's reflection lined up next to hers, the side-by-side comparison making the difference in waist size that much more obvious. "You said you preferred not to know."

"You said I'd only gotten five inches bigger, Liara!" Shepard countered, hissing through gritted teeth, barely daring to raise her voice so as not to draw Javik's censorious attention. "You said it was hardly noticeable when I had armour on!"

"I said five or six…" Liara corrected her, sucking anxiously on her lower lip.

"It is more than six," Javik corrected, bluntly, inserting himself into the conversation as he moved to stand behind the two women at the side of the pool. "It is closer to six and a half. Your minimalism is pointless, asari. Telling her that people do not see it will not keep them from seeing it. It will only make her more careless about letting them see it." Turning his attention to Shepard then, he gave her a telling once over, the edge of his lip curling faintly as his gaze moved over her stomach on the way back up, before letting out a soft snort of disapproving breath. "You are hardly doing her a kindness with your lies," he added, coldly, still speaking to Liara, though his critical gaze stayed locked on Shepard. "You are only hurting her by inflicting her with wilful ignorance."

"I'm not _ignorant_ ," Shepard informed him, frowning, frank. "I know I've gotten bigger. I just thought… maybe…" Turning back to the mirrored pool, she stared down at her reflection again, pressing one hand to the front of her stomach, the other resting against her back, as if trying to get a physical grasp on how much unexpected space now existed in the space between them. "I really thought I had more time," she admitted, giving a short, discouraged huff of breath. "Is it just some kind of sick unspoken joke at this point? Everybody knows it but nobody is willing to say anything because they're too _polite_?"

"I have said something," Javik reminded her, stonily. "Time and again. You have simply chosen not to listen."

"To be fair, Shepard, you've been doing a surprisingly good job of hiding it," Liara countered, reassuringly, quickly superseding Javik's discourteous input. "Between that jacket you wear around the Normandy, and the reinforced armour on missions—"

"Again, you are being generous," Javik snorted, interrupting her, causing Liara to glance back at him, annoyed. "Perhaps you are used to seeing people walking around military settings with their pants hanging open, but as for myself, I find it highly distracting. I would be surprised if other members of the crew had not noticed it as well. She does not make as notable a point of hiding _that_."

"Well, what do you want me to do, Javik?" Shepard returned, dropping her hands from her abdomen to look back at him again, frustrated. "I still wear a belt, but it's not like I have a pair of maternity pants conveniently lying around. And—besides, why are you looking, anyway? You already know I'm pregnant. There's no reason for you to be looking for more reasons to ridicule me."

"I am not _looking_ , Commander," Javik corrected her, turning his gaze up towards her, deliberately. "I simply _see_ it. You are not as subtle as you think you are." Giving another soft, critical snort, he looked away again, turning his four yellow eyes towards a decorative, flowering plant at the far end of the swimming hall, indifferent. "Either way, you will not be able to hide this for very much longer," he informed her, impassively. "Your crew may very well be unobservant, but, despite my initial convictions, they are not entirely stupid. How are you going to explain to your commanding officers that you cannot complete your mission because you cannot fit into your armour?"

"I fit into my armour just fine," Shepard told him, frowning stubbornly. "And if it comes down to it, I'll just get new armour that does fit. Bigger armour. Men's armour, even, if I have to. I have men's armour – I can just use that."

"A foolhardy plan," Javik returned, shaking his head disapprovingly. "And a nearsighted one. Do you think this war will be over so quickly? What happens when no armour fits anymore, male or otherwise? Do you think the Illusive Man will take you seriously as a threat if you come forward to face him with your ridiculous belly hanging out in front?" He turned to look at her again, harsh, no longer hiding his disapproving glare. "Of all the secrets you could possibly be trying to keep, this is by far the most stupid," he told her, bluntly. "It is a wonder no one has figured it out yet."

"And let's just hope it stays that way," Shepard returned, flatly. Then, pushing past him and Liara again, she made her way towards a sleek white console standing in a corner of the platform, hidden behind a large-leafed wax plant. Moving the plant out of the way, she pulled up a keypad on the console, inputting a catch-all override code, before looking up towards the pool again, expectantly. "That should do the trick," she said, making her way back towards the edge of the pool as the swimming room gave a low, ominous rumble, the ground starting to shake faintly under their feet.

"What's happening?" Liara asked, taking a step back, confused. Her answer came soon enough, as the massive pool began to quickly subside, the water draining steadily out through the bottom of the giant tank and disappearing underground, leaving nothing but pristine metal in its wake. Where the swimming pool had once been now stretched an immense, twisting maze of pipework, ladders, secondary rooms, and sealed, airtight doorways.

"They needed to hide something," Shepard explained, scanning the newly-revealed roomscape for some sign of their next destination, hardly able to hold back a satisfied smirk as she looked out over her handiwork. "And we have a back door into the facility now. Let's move."

Water still dripped from the massive decorative structures suspended above their heads as Shepard and her team climbed down the ladder towards the bottom of the emptied-out pool, their heavy boots splashing against the metal walkway as they made their way towards a pair of sealed doors built into the wall at the far end of the basin. As they passed a large, rounded machine built into the side of one of the structures, Liara suddenly slowed, intrigued, before turning to inspect the object with interest. "That looks like Reaper technology," she commented, frowning down at the deceptively unremarkable structure as Shepard came to stand beside her, looking over it as well. "I'm sure of it. I don't know how, but Cerberus has found a way to use it."

"The answer has to be here somewhere," Shepard returned, offering her a believing nod. "And Miranda's caught in the middle. Let's pick up the pace." Turning away from the unusual object, she started again towards the airtight doors at the far back of the basin, drawing her weapon as she pressed her omni-tool sensor to the glowing lock, overriding it, causing the doors to slide easily open. The room beyond the basin was dark, lit dimly by a few thin white strips of light running the length of the walls, the path ahead barely illuminated enough to see to the next door down the hallway. Shepard gripped her weapon closer to her chest, feeling a growing sense of unease the deeper they travelled into the heart of the evacuee station.

"No refugee ever saw this part of Sanctuary," Javik murmured, looking around the bleak hallway, tense. The door at the end of the hall opened up to reveal a much larger room beyond, this one just as dark as the last, with a single, dreary floodlight illuminating what looked to be a command console setup in the middle of the room. The console was ringed on all sides by dead, blank vid screens, and as they looked around, they noticed an enormous window of bulletproof glass stretching across the length of the far wall, looking out into a black, unlit chasm. Two unidentifiable machines hummed quietly behind a panel of plexiglass against the back wall of the room, and papers had been left strewn haphazardly across the floor, apparently abandoned by whoever had been working there before their arrival. Shepard paused over the papers, shifting one into the light with her foot to try to read what was written on it, but she could not figure out the series of tiny, almost unreadable strings of numbers printed on all the papers, none of which seemed on the first read to make any logical or binary sense.

"This has to be a command centre," Liara observed, cupping a hand against the bulletproof glass to squint out into the darkness. "No power, though."

"Hm," Shepard returned, looking away from the papers again. Moving over to the command console under the floodlight, she perused it, until finally she found a single, flashing button near the top of the console. As soon as she pressed it, the console whined to life, a hologram keyboard projecting onto its face as the ring of previously blank vid screens flickered to life, fizzling into focus one at a time. As they watched, the entire control room began to hum into functionality, the ceiling lights turning on one at a time, throwing the largeness of the room into sudden sharp focus.

"What's happening?" Liara asked, frowning up at the ring of vid screens as a video began to play on all of them in unison, a silent, flickering image of a refugee trapped inside an enormous plexiglass tube, banging in unheard terror on the glass as what looked to be a thick, greasy smoke was filtered in through a vent at the bottom of the enclosure. "Those are the refugees! They're just… killing them?!"

"Worse," Shepard answered, watching as the refugee in the tube began to painfully mutate, twisting and thrashing in horrified pain as his body began to almost rot around him. "They're being turned into Husks." A second, fully altered refugee could be seen climbing frantically up the walls of an enclosure closer to the camera, his enormous blue eyes wide, his gaping mouth screeching in silent horror as he threw himself against the back wall of the tube, trying desperately to escape his plexiglass prison. Just then, a glimpse of movement from outside the bulletproof glass caught Shepard's attention, and she looked up, frowning, before moving around the command console to move over to the glass and squint out into the dimly-lit chamber, looking for some sign of whatever it was she had seen. Typing a command into a squat, white control hub in front of the window, she looked up again as the blackened chasm outside the glass began to light up, one light at a time, revealing an enormous maze of pipework and hallways that zigzagged and twisted through the underground heart of the facility like an enormous, unnerving maze.

In the middle of the metal hall sat a small hoard of Husks, and, as Shepard and her team watched, the Husks all looked up at them in unison, startled, before letting out a horrendous snarling screech and running away into the darkness again, scattering like cockroaches from the light. "The refugees," Shepard breathed, narrowing her eyes, feeling ill at the sight of them. Just then, a loud _bang_ caused her to jump back from the window, startled, and, looking up, she saw that a Husk had jumped out at her from the darkness, and now clung to the bulletproof glass, its fingers and toes spread like a tree frog, a hairy, slimy grey substance leaving streaks across the glass where its fingertips and toes had made contact. The Husk still wore the remnants of a service uniform, some sort of cleaning or maintenance crew, but the buttons had all been torn away, the sides of the shirt shredded almost all the way up to the sleeves, the pants ripped to above the ankles and stained with old, rotten urine and some sort of black and grey organic substance that appeared to have eaten through the inside of the knees of the uniform. The nametag on the breast of the uniform was still barely visible, though it, too had been streaked with the same unknown black substance, making it almost impossible to make out the unfortunate refugee's name.

"This makes no sense," Javik retorted, his brow furrowing deeply as his lip curled upward, baring the tips of his yellow teeth. "Going to all this trouble simply to create Husks… it is pointlessly counterproductive. What could the Illusive Man possibly be trying to gain?"

"The Reapers attacked because this place was a threat," Shepard returned, turning away from the window to face her party again, solemn. "We need to find out why." Moving past them, she headed for a door at the far end of the command centre, passing her omni-tool sensor over the greenlit lock and causing the door to slide open, allowing them inside. This room was lit a bit better than the last, though it, too was oddly abandoned, the only indicator that anyone had ever been there the still-awake computers that lined two rows of pristine, uninhabited desks. A video monitor at the back of the room flickered and fizzled, a familiar female voice coughing out of the speakers in short spurts as the console attempted to play back its recorded message.

"Shutting down the power—" it started to say, before dying out again, returning to garbled white noise. Making her way over to the console, Shepard pulled up the holo keypad, typing in a command to override the scrambler just long enough for the message to play. The screen flashed, a series of horizontal stripes streaking down its surface, before a grainy image finally came up of Miranda standing in front of a computer console, too busy to even look at the camera as she spoke. "Reaper forces have made a mess of the facility," she reported, typing frantically into a computer on the recorded message. "I'm shutting down the power to the processing plant to lock them down. It should keep them out of the entrance as well."

"Clearly, it did not," Javik commented, nonplussed.

"Look," Liara suddenly spoke up, pointing towards the vid screen again. When Shepard turned to see what she was pointing at, she realized that the security footage now showed a grainy video of Kai Leng walking in an inquisitive circle where Miranda had been standing only moments earlier, like a dog chasing after a scented trail. Seeming satisfied with his information, Leng stopped his pacing, bringing a hand up to his in-ear comm, his posture rigid and alert as he waited for the Illusive Man to pick up on the other end.

"Miranda Lawson has arrived sooner than expected," Leng reported into his comm, darkly. "Do you want me to deal with her?"

"Only if she gets in your way," the Illusive Man's response came through. "Stay focused on the research data. Find it and get out."

"Yes, sir," Leng confirmed, before the vid finally fizzled out into static again.

"Damn it," Shepard swore, gritting her teeth. "Miranda won't know he's here yet. Let's hope we're not too late already." Turning away from the console, she scanned the room, looking for some clue as to where Miranda might have gone, before heading down a flight of stairs towards a door at the bottom of the room. No sooner had she scanned her omni-tool sensor across the greenlit lock to open the door when she suddenly found herself face-to-face with a Husk, which had apparently been waiting just behind the door, listening in on them, lying in wait for them to arrive. Its neon blue eyes shot open as it opened its gaping, toothless mouth, shrieking in her face, the sound so wholly inhuman that it caused her blood to run cold. Before she had a chance to react, the Husk reached forward towards her, its sticky fingers grabbing hold of her shoulders as it clung to her, pulling her down towards the floor. Her weapon shot off blindly as she struggled to get free of the creature, its ragged black fingernails digging into her neck as the putrid smell of rotting flesh overwhelmed her senses, causing her to gag and gasp for breath.

"SHEPARD!" Liara shouted, running down the stairs towards the oncoming slew of Husks, opening fire as another pair of creatures ran shrieking out the door of the adjoining computer room towards the party. Javik was quick to follow suit, jumping over the banister of the stairs to join Liara at the bottom, moving past Shepard into the computer room and taking out the Husks as they approached, shielding Shepard from any more coming attackers. Regaining her shattered senses, Shepard gave a strangled shout of protest, ramming her elbow as hard as she could into the Husk's stomach, causing it to give a sharp, half-swallowed shriek of surprise as she grabbed hold of its rotten wrist, attempting to wrest the creature's grip free of her face. Twisting away from the Husk's grasping appendages, she grabbed hold of her Marauder, pushing herself into a sitting position as the Husk latched onto her leg, before turning and burying a bevy of plasma shots directly into the creature's face, leaving nothing but a smoking hole where its soulless eyes had once been.

The Husk gave another weak, garbled shriek, its grip on her leg slackening as a gush of black, curdled blood poured out of its mouth onto her boot, and she quickly kicked the dying creature away, before looking up towards the computer room, only to see that the entire floor was littered with lifeless Husk corpses. Pushing herself across the floor towards a corner of the room, Shepard breathed heavily, clutching her chest, her breath coming in loud, ragged wheezes as she tried in vain to steady herself, feeling a white-hot, aching, burning sensation building up just behind her ribcage, sending flaring daggers of agony up her throat and down into her stomach to her pelvic region. She felt as if she needed to vomit, but at the same time, vomiting sounded too painful to bear. Shepard coughed, dropping her gun to the floor with a loud, abandoned clatter, both hands pressing down hard against her chest and throat as she stared at a spot on the ground, her mind blank with panic, desperately wondering how she would be able to get out of Sanctuary with no communication to the Normandy. Liara was quick to settle herself in beside her, pulling Shepard in close to her shoulder and cooing her gently, helping her breathe, but Javik did not seem as eager to assist, merely standing in the middle of the corpse-strewn computer room, his gun held aimlessly at his side as he looked around at the carnage they had caused.

"This is madness, Commander," Javik suddenly spoke up, decisively, turning his exasperated attention towards Shepard and Liara, causing both women to look up at him, surprised. "You cannot keep pretending that everything is as it always has been. It is no longer debatable, it is merely a fact at this point. Everyone can see that you are unfit to perform duties as strenuous as those you insist on undertaking in your unfortunate condition."

"The only thing _unfortunate_ here is your poor attitude," Liara countered, steeling herself not to wince as Shepard gripped her hand, silently riding out the pain. Shepard closed her eyes, gritting her teeth as she turned her head to bury it in Liara's shoulder, her boot digging into the metal flooring as she willed the burning ache in her chest to go away, practicing the breathing exercises Mordin had recommended her as best she could remember. Liara carefully pushed Shepard's sweaty bangs out of her eyes as Shepard leaned forward into her knees, pressing her free hand against her chest in the hope that the pressure might help relieve the pain. "This doesn't concern you, Javik," Liara added, turning her attention back towards the Prothean, annoyed. "Your duty is to help Shepard complete her mission. That means in whatever way is deemed necessary. If you are unwilling to perform that simple task, you should not have opted to come along."

"I _opted_ to come along because you _requested_ I do so, asari," Javik reminded her, stonily, causing a light purple blush to rise to Liara's embarrassed cheeks. "And as for whether or not this concerns me, I principally disagree. I have no intent or interest in dying simply because the Commander cannot participate in a single altercation without having to take an equally lengthy recovery period directly after." Turning his attention towards Shepard now, he scowled down at her, his stony expression unwavering as she looked up at him, regarding him with weary, sweaty frustration. "Whatever awaits us up ahead is hardly likely to wait around for you to catch your breath," he informed her, harshly, his lip curling faintly to show the filed tips of his yellow teeth. "Your assassin, Cerberus forces, Reaper forces… you have gotten yourself into this situation, and you refuse to accept responsibility for that fact. Now it seems we all must pay the price for your obstinacy."

"My obstinacy?" Shepard repeated, panting, incredulous, feeling the throbbing of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. "You're a real son of a bitch, Javik, you know that? You've got a damn lot of nerve telling me what I should and shouldn't be doing."

"I would not endeavour to tell you what to do, Commander," Javik informed her, coldly, lifting his chin to look down at her across the bridge of his flat nose. "My opinion clearly has no effect on you, nor does anyone else's, for that matter. You do whatever you want to do, regardless of what anyone recommends… to whatever unfortunate end it leads."

"She's keeping the baby," Liara suddenly snapped, her eyes flashing as she rose quickly to her feet again, facing off against Javik, defensive. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she took a deep breath, puffing herself up, taking another step forward to get right in his face, fed up with his malicious attitude. His yellow eyes widened as she came closer, guarded, but he did not move to get out of her way, continuing to stare her down, even as her face came within menacing inches of his. "She made a decision," Liara told him, firmly. "And no amount of snide commentary or rude implications on your part is going to change that. You've made your opinion on the matter quite clear, and so has she. But it's not your decision to make. It's hers. And she made her decision. So _drop it_."

Javik hesitated, seeming surprised by Liara's newfound, aggressive resolve. Then, giving another soft snort of disapproval, he looked up and away from her, instead returning his attention to Shepard, who was still sitting to one side of the door, taking the moment to catch her breath. "Your spiteful stubbornness has no effect on me," he informed her, matter-of-factly. "If you are doing this to prove a point, then you are only wasting your time. I have no stake in whether you decide to keep the baby or not. It makes no difference to me one way or the other."

"Then why have you been going out of your way to give her such a hard time about it?" Liara insisted, causing Javik to look down towards her again, frowning, irritated. "If you don't care whether she has it or not, why did you make such a point of telling her to get rid of it?"

"I never told her to get rid of it," Javik corrected her, flatly. "I merely told her that she was foolish for getting pregnant. I told her that I did not respect her for her indecisiveness in the matter. I told her that she was delusional and reckless for thinking she could deceive an entire military vessel into not noticing she was pregnant. I never once told her that it would benefit me if she were to get rid of the child." Looking over towards Shepard again, he regarded her with a look of flat, almost apathetic indignation. "My investment in her wellbeing is on a professional level only," he added, incisively. "Anything other than that is more concern than I care to give."

"Duly noted," Shepard answered, coldly. Then, reaching out a hand for Liara to take, she grabbed up her Marauder from where it had dropped on the floor, bracing herself against the door frame with the hand holding the gun as Liara lifted her gently up under her other arm, helping her steadily back to her feet. Coughing a few times, Shepard sniffed, offhanded, before popping the spent heat sink out of her gun and fishing a fresh sink from the pouch at her hip. "You've made it perfectly clear you don't give a damn about me, Javik," she informed him, pressing the fresh sink into the weapon with a hiss and a click before turning her attention up towards him again, stonily. "But that doesn't mean you're not still a part of this crew. And as part of the Normandy crew, it's your responsibility to help me complete this mission, whether you like it or not. After this you don't ever have to come with me on any mission again, but until we're actually back on board the Normandy, you listen to my orders, and you follow them. Is that clear?"

Javik seethed, bristling silently at her tone, his four yellow eyes unblinking and cold as he stared at her, frigidly, his mouth drawing into a hard, thin line. "Yes, Commander," he finally told her, speaking slowly, resentful, his lip curling faintly upward to show the filed tips of his teeth.

"Good," Shepard answered, frankly, turning away from him again. "Now let's get moving. We still need to figure out where Miranda and Kai Leng went, and we don't have much time."

"Understood, Commander," Liara confirmed, readying her weapon.


	28. WEEK SIXTEEN, Pt.3

The lights in the long, dark hallway flickered as Shepard passed under them, and she looked up warily, clutching her gun, making sure no more unwelcome surprises waited for them in the darkened corners of the room. The greenlit door at the end of the hall slid open easily, and Shepard took a step back, ready to fight, but was relieved to find that the room contained nothing but several desks lined up in rows on an unusual, levelled decline. The room seemed untouched, pristinely abandoned, with nothing left behind on the desks to indicate that anyone had been there before their arrival save for the few computers still sitting awake, their screens scrolling lazily with lines and blocks of basic laboratory text. Moving up to one of the computers still sitting awake, Shepard pulled up the projected keypad, tapped a button to access the computer's data logs and selecting the first log on the list to play.

"I spent the last week making small adjustments to increase processing efficiency," Henry Lawson's deep, accented voice came through the speakers, sounding chillingly self-satisfied. "There is no shortage of subjects – indeed, I'm told there's a long line outside the main gate. Our deception is an unfortunate necessity. Time is very short." Making a face, Shepard scrolled back to the data logs, selecting the next one down and letting it play out as well. "We've confirmed the results of Cerberus experiments involving the Husk creatures," Lawson continued, matter-of-factly. "A crude, but necessary first step in decoding how the Reapers communicate. The key is how the Reaper signal interacts with the nanites implanted within the subject's body. It's early yet, but we are making progress."

"This is sick," Liara commented, shaking her head as she came to stand behind Shepard at the computer, listening in on the data logs. "All of this research, all of it… sick."

"Doctor Nuri's legacy work with subject Paul Grayson provided a key element to our work here," Lawson continued on the next log down, causing Shepard to make a face, perturbed. She had only ever heard about Paul Grayson's fate from conversations with Anderson, but she still knew full well that any research that used the work done on Grayson as a jumping-off point had no chance of being anything good. "Using the addictive drug red sand to break down the will was inspired, but proved unreliable for general application. We've proven that adrenaline, and its cross-species equivalence, is most effective and efficient."

"It is difficult to imagine what this facility was like at full operation," Javik commented, bleakly, listening in on the logs as well. Shepard nodded in silent agreement, scrolling back to the list of logs, and selected the last one on the list, letting it play, completing the report.

"Our pursuit of efficiency has revealed an important fact," Lawson's voice on the log revealed, enthusiastically. "The Reapers' use of Dragons' Teeth to create Husks is… ingenious. The Reaper nanites attach themselves to the adrenaline released and quickly move through the body to speed conversion to the final Husk state."

"Shepard, look," Liara suddenly gasped, causing Shepard to look up, her eyes wide, to see what Liara was looking at. Further down the incline of desks, at the far end of the research room, stretched a wide window of bulletproof glass, much like the one in the control centre, only this one looked in on what seemed to be a containment chamber much smaller than the open space the Husks had occupied. Abandoning the computer with Lawson's logs, Shepard made her way inquisitively down the incline to what appeared to be the front of the room, moving up to the glass and peering curiously inside. Then, seeing nothing, she frowned, before lifting a hand and giving the glass a few soft, sharp raps with her finger. No sooner had she done so when she suddenly found herself face-to-face with the leering countenance of a Banshee, looming out at her from behind the sealed-in glass wall of the containment chamber. The Banshee wailed, its piercing shriek muted by the thick bulletproof glass, before reaching up a clawed hand to scratch at the partition holding it prisoner, but to little avail, as the glass held firm, keeping the Banshee locked inside, powerless to do anything but grimace out at its onlookers in fruitless, captive anger.

"Poor thing," Liara breathed, gripping her gun tightly to her chest, trying to keep her hands from shaking. "She was probably one of the lucky ones who managed to escape from Thessia… only to wind up here instead."

"Does not seem very lucky to me," Javik observed, his brow furrowing, solemn.

"You're right," Liara agreed, sombrely, her eyes still glued to the hauntingly aimless form of the Banshee, who had taken to swaying gently in place, her long arms swinging by her knees as she looked out at her observers with enormous, blank black eyes. "She probably wishes she had just died on the homeworld, rather than having to be reduced to…" She trailed off, her words catching firmly in her throat, and looked away from the horrible sight, taking a sharp intake of breath and reaching up a hand to rub at her eyes, trying to push back the tears that threatened to betray her. "I'm sorry," she sniffed, shaking her head as she looked up at Shepard again, her voice shaking. "Can we please just get out of here? I can't bear to see my people like this. Horrible… twisted, perverted like…"

"Like the Collectors," Shepard agreed, gravely.

"Yes," Liara answered, nodding in agreement. "Can we please just move on?"

"Sure," Shepard said, reaching out a hand to take hold of Liara's shoulder, turning her away from the observation window. "Absolutely. Come on, let's go." Moving away from the window, herself, Shepard headed for the next door into the facility, at the far end of the observation hall. Passing her omni-tool sensor over the lock, she prompted her party to follow her inside, and was less than surprised to find another room full of abandoned computers. Most of the computers had gone to sleep or reverted to projected screensavers showing just the word 'Sanctuary', but one console in the corner flickered noisily on and off, drawing their attention as it fought to retain some semblance of functionality. As Shepard approached the malfunctioning console, it gave a loud, angry buzzing noise, a barely discernible image filtering onto the screen for a few seconds before the screen flashed black and white again, reverting back to fuzzy bars and white noise once more.

"Figure out how Reaper indoctrination w—" Miranda's voice began to come through on the console, only to short out again as the console whined, the image on the screen flashing with static as it lost track of its memory again.

"The terminal is damaged," Shepard observed, stashing her gun in its maglock as she squatted down to better access the terminal mainframe. "Hold on." Javik and Liara moved up behind her as she worked, each holding their weapon at the ready, prepared to defend her from any oncoming enemies, but it seemed that whatever or whoever had set the Husks loose a few rooms before this had not seen fit to do the same further down the line.

"The Reapers wanted this place shut down," Javik commented, glancing over his shoulder to check on Shepard's progress before returning his attention to guarding the door. "Perhaps now we will find out why."

"It doesn't make sense," Shepard agreed, threading out a few loose wires and biting pensively on her lower lip as she tried to figure out which ones to cross to repair the broken console. "I thought Cerberus and the Reapers were getting along. What changed?" Her work was soon rewarded with a satisfying trill from the computer as the image on the screen began to clear, and she quickly grabbed hold of the edge of the console, pulling herself back to her feet and closing the door of the control box with her boot as she watched Miranda's message come to life.

"Heading to the tower to disable the communications scrambler," Miranda reported, dutifully. "I have to get word out. Some refugees are turned into Husks. Some are indoctrinated and shipped to the Illusive Man. Whoever's left is used in experiments. The data indicates that my father is trying to figure out how Reaper indoctrination works."

"Tricking refugees with food and shelter only to turn them into test subjects," Shepard spat, making a face, angry. "And for what?"

"Greed," Javik observed, solemnly. "And self-preservation. Those with more taking advantage of those with less. The strong killing the weak, all for the sake of personal gain. A pattern as old as time itself."

"Note that she mentioned shipping indoctrinated refugees to the Illusive Man," Liara added, pointedly, causing Shepard to look over at her, intrigued. "We can use that to find him if we have to."

"Good catch," Shepard commended, turning away from the computer console. "Come on. Miranda said she was headed to the tower. We should be getting close by now."

* * *

The elevator access tower had been closer than anticipated, as it had taken passing through only a few more eerily abandoned rooms for them to reach their destination. Making sure every member of her ground team was accounted for in the elevator, Shepard pressed the button for the topmost floor, frowning as the elevator gave a sharp buzz, and then a low-pitched whine, before finally seeming to power up into functionality again. "Tower access granted," the smooth female intercom voice chimed, and the elevator gave a shuddering jerk, causing the three passengers to reach for the sides as the elevator pulled itself out of electrical stasis, beginning to move upwards towards the top floor. Gripping her Marauder close to her chest, Shepard leaned back against the broad, cool siding of the elevator, allowing herself a quick moment to rest, but it did not take long for the elevator to come to a shuddering halt at the top floor, and she quickly stood from the side again, not wanting to show any sign of fatigue. Signalling silently for her companions to flank her, she stepped out of the elevator, making a quick sweep of the room for any hostile forces, but then, finding it empty, she moved forward again, Liara and Javik following closely behind her.

The next room they passed through was just as oddly empty of Cerberus forces as the last, but as she reached another door at the far end of the hall, Shepard turned, signalling for her companions to be silent, before passing her omni-tool sensor in front of the greenlit lock and causing the door to slide open with a smooth hiss. Crouching low at the edge of the doorway, Shepard brandished her gun, making her way as quietly into the room as she could manage, and she was surprised when the first person she saw upon entering was not an enemy agent, but Miranda Lawson, herself. Miranda sat on the floor of the room behind one of the desks, her legs folded awkwardly beneath her as if she had been forcibly knocked down, her usually pristine outfit riddled with small rips, smudges, and spots of blood. Her hair was dishevelled, her makeup smudged, and when she turned her head a bit further to look back towards Shepard, she could see a nasty cut that looked like a plasma bullet graze-mark marring the young woman's pale cheek.

"Shepard," Miranda pleaded, her voice raw, before turning her attention back towards the other side of the room, causing Shepard to look that way as well.

"Commander Shepard," Henry Lawson greeted her, tightening his grip on Oriana's throat as he aimed his weapon at the Commander. "Excellent timing."

"Put the gun down," Shepard insisted, darkly, raising her own weapon at the ready, moving around the desk where Miranda was hiding to get a better aim at Lawson.

Lawson shook his head, his grip on Oriana's throat tightening again as he did so, causing her to give a strangled yelp of pain. "No," he answered, firmly, the hand holding his gun shaking a bit as his knuckles began to turn white from gripping it so tightly. "Oriana tried to shoot me. Miranda's poisonous influence, no doubt."

"I'm sorry she missed," Shepard returned, coldly, her weapon still trained on Lawson's face. "Where's Kai Leng?"

"I don't know," Lawson answered, honestly, shaking his head in return. "Gone. He took most of my research and left us here to die." Oriana gave another whimpering gasp, her fingers clawing fruitlessly at her father's iron grip, and Shepard took a wary step back away from the two of them, hoping the man might ease up a bit if he felt a bit less threatened. Glancing back over her shoulder towards where Miranda still sat on the floor, dazed, she took a second step back, closer to the older Lawson sister.

"Miranda, can you hear me?" she asked, tentatively. Miranda grunted, taking in a sharp gasp of pained breath, before pushing herself to her knees, and from there pulling herself to her feet, using the edge of the desk for support. Seeing his eldest daughter back on her feet, Lawson took a guarded step backwards towards the large bulletproof glass observation window behind him, dragging Oriana with him as he went, ignoring her cries of protest.

"That's close enough!" Lawson insisted, shifting his gun from one woman to the other and back again, nervously. "Both of you! Kai Leng didn't finish the job, but I will."

Shepard shook her head, training her weapon on his face again. "This ends here," she told him, firmly.

"On the contrary," Lawson countered, taking another step back, seeming suddenly strangely smug. "Now that the Reapers are taken care of, we have a way out."

"Let her go," Shepard hissed, hardly noticing as Miranda began to move around her, walking awkwardly, limping, almost zombie-like, her gaze locked on Lawson as she did so. Shepard could see Lawson's eyes flicking from her to Miranda, trying to decide which one posed more of a threat, before Miranda finally came to a stop, leaning heavily on one of the desks, unable to walk any further.

"Shepard," Miranda pleaded again, her voice shuddering with pain as she turned to look back at her. "Don't let him take her."

"Shepard, please," Oriana echoed, before her voice was cut short again, choked off by Lawson's grip tightening around her throat, possessive.

Shepard gritted her teeth, her gaze flicking desperately around the room as she looked for something she could use to her advantage, but, finding nothing, she returned her attention to Lawson again, taking in a sharp breath as she shifted her stance, keeping her weapon trained on him. "I have no problem with you," she told him, coaxingly, trying her hardest to keep her voice even and diplomatic. "I just want Oriana and the research data."

"You want a lot," Lawson returned, frowning deeply, unrelenting.

"You get your life in return," Shepard persuaded, moving a few steps to the side, watching as his eyes followed her keenly across the room. "How much is that worth?"

Lawson faltered at her question, uncertain, his gaze darting nervously from side to side as he thought it over. Then, returning his attention to Shepard, he wet his dry lips, anxiously, before letting go of Oriana and shoving her roughly forward, away from himself. "All right," he answered, solemnly, lifting his gun to point it at Shepard once more. "Take her. Oriana, Miranda, and the rest of the research are yours. Whatever small amount Kai Leng left. But I want out alive, and I want my last completed personal experiment. Deal?"

"Your las—" Shepard began to ask, but she did not even have time to get her sentence out before Miranda suddenly let out a hateful yell from behind her, erupting in a pulsating blue light and thrusting out a hand towards Lawson, sending out a violent pulse of blue energy in his direction. The blast barrelled Lawson sharply off his feet and into the air, sending him punching through the bulletproof glass behind him, suspended in terrified animation for a split second before falling down into the bottomless facility chasm with one last, desperate bloodcurdling scream. The sound echoed off the hollow walls of the facility structure, before gradually fading away into eerie, reverberating silence. Miranda breathed heavily, fists clenched, nails digging into her palms, staring in numb, victorious shock at the spot where her father had been standing only moments earlier, but which now contained nothing but a massive broken window, the edges of the hole half-melted from biotic energy and streaked with fresh, warm blood.

"No deal," she breathed, her voice shaking with hatred, her eyes shining brightly with fresh, unshed tears. Then, moving forward quickly to where Oriana still knelt on the floor, trying to catch her strangled breath, Miranda pulled her sister up by her hands, brushing her dark hair out of her face, checking her eyes, her cheeks, her arms for any sign of harm their father might have done her. "Did he hurt you?" she asked, her voice gentle, even as she fussed fretfully over her sister's rumpled clothing. "Are you all right?" Then, pulling Oriana in towards her again, Miranda embraced her sister tightly, nestling her face in the young woman's shoulder in dishevelled disbelief. "It's okay, Ori," she told her, sniffling, barely containing a breath of manic, thankful laughter as she tried hard to hold back tears of relief. "You're safe now."

"I'm fine," Oriana answered, hugging Miranda back warmly, before pulling away to look up into her older sister's face again. "I just… I wanna get out of here."

"We will," Miranda assured her, offering her a short nod in return. "Just… give me a minute, okay?" Then, giving Oriana one last, reassuring smile, Miranda untangled her arms from around her sister's waist, before turning to cross the room towards Shepard again, causing Shepard to look up at her as she approached. "Commander Shepard," she addressed her, sounding grateful, almost relieved to see her. "Fancy meeting you here."

"We caught a break," Shepard returned, playfully, offering her a reassuring half-smile. "Are you all right?"

"I'll be fine," Miranda answered, dismissively, turning her gaze down towards the floor and crossing her arms across her chest. "Really. I don't know how you managed it, but I'm grateful you're here."

"Miranda, you know this whole thing was a huge risk," Shepard told her, scolding gently, causing Miranda to look up at her again, a bit surprised. "You should have told me what you were doing. I would have come to help you sooner."

"Well, you would know all about huge risks, I'm sure," Miranda returned, pointedly, sucking dourly on the inside of her lip. Then, letting out a long, heavy sigh, she looked away from Shepard again, shaking her head. "Besides, you have a war to win, Shepard," she told her. "Among… other things. Just as important. And far more important than some father-daughter squabble." Having said this, she fell silent, trailing off, her last words hanging, thick, in the air between them. "But, it doesn't matter now," she added quickly, glancing back towards Oriana before returning her attention to Shepard again. "It's over now. This was my fight, Shepard. And it's been a long time coming."

"You did it," Shepard agreed, still feeling a bit guarded, offering Miranda a reassuring nod in return. "It's over."

"Yes…" Miranda answered, thoughtfully, before dropping her gaze to the floor again, self-conscious. "I just wish my sister didn't have to see all this."

"About your father…" Shepard started to ask, but Miranda was quick to cut her off.

"I'm glad he's gone, Shepard," she told her, firmly, lifting her gaze to look over at her again. "I'm sorry if that sounds cold."

"No," Shepard assured her. "I understand."

Miranda nodded, reassured, before letting out a soft huff of breath, the corners of her plush lips curving upward in a small, relieved smile. "It's finally over," she said, her voice distant, as if she could still hardly believe it, herself. "For both of us. We can stop running."

"Yes, you can," Shepard agreed. Then, turning her attention towards Liara again, she watched as the asari began to hack into the large, glowing computer console at the far end of the research room, pulling up a list of files and starting to search them for pertinent information. "What's our status?" Shepard asked, taking a few steps closer, trying to get a better look at what Liara was doing. "Any intel we can use from this place?"

"The research data is gone, but we've got basic facility information," Liara returned, hardly seeming to notice as Javik moved up behind her at the console as well, watching her deft hands working with detached interest. "Shuttle arrivals and departures – Cerberus included. No direct links, but it's a start."

"Grab anything you can off the computer," Shepard instructed. "We'll take it in to be analysed."

"I can do better than that," Miranda suddenly spoke up again, causing everyone to look her way, surprised. Even Liara looked up from her hacking, the coding scrolling past her on the screen, unchecked, as she waited anxiously for Miranda to clarify.

"What do you mean?" Shepard asked, her brow furrowing, intrigued.

"I mean I've actually been there," Miranda informed her, matter-of-factly. "To the Illusive Man's base. I've only been there a handful of times, mostly back during the start of the Lazarus Project, but I remember where it's located well enough. Perfect memory, never forgets." Tapping the side of her temple, she offered Shepard a thin, chary smile, before moving over to where the ground team still stood huddled around the main laboratory computer. Collapsing the window of code Liara had been working on, she instead flipped back through the computer's functional software, searching the files for a starmap program. "I kept telling him that if he wanted to remain secret and remote, he should move his base around so rogue agents and deserters can't track him down and do him harm," she added, disdainfully, pulling up the program and selecting the Milky Way galaxy, scrolling with her finger until she found the system she was looking for. "But he's so bloody arrogant that he never listens to reason. His base of operations hasn't moved in over twenty years. He found that dying star during his travels, you know the one, and he liked it so damn much that he parked his base in front of it and hasn't moved since."

"The dying star," Shepard repeated, thoughtfully, watching as Miranda zeroed in on a cluster near the middle of the map, expanding it, before selecting a system from the cluster and zooming in on that as well. "Yeah, now that you mention it, I do kind of remember a dying star."

"He thinks having that bloody thing in the backdrop gives him an air of enigma or something," Miranda scoffed, shaking her head as she expanded the map of one of the star systems, causing the computer to beep as the pertinent information on it began to stack up in neat boxes along the side of the holoscreen. "I think it makes him look like an arsehole, personally, but I was being paid too much at the time to tell him so. Vanity has kept the Illusive Man rooted in place, and it's going to be what gives us the upper hand against him." Passing her omni-tool sensor across the keypad hub, Miranda gave another soft snort, satisfied, as the computer offered another beep, informing her that the information had been successfully transferred. "His first mistake was thinking that he's so invincible he doesn't have to take precautions against being found," she added, turning to face Shepard and holding up her omni-tool sensor, proudly. "And if we play our cards right, that's going to be his downfall."

"That's… fantastic, Miranda," Shepard told her, letting out a soft breath of relieved laughter, barely able to keep a giddy grin from her face as her gaze moved from Miranda, to the sensor, to the map, and then back to Miranda. "You are fantastic."

"Not quite," Miranda answered, sheepishly, dropping her hand back to her side again. "But, you know… nobody's perfect."

"So what's next for you two?" Shepard asked, glancing back towards Oriana, causing Miranda to do the same.

"I want to get her someplace safe," Miranda answered, fairly. "And hopefully get this scratch cleaned up."

"We can do that," Shepard returned, looking back at her again and offering a reassuring nod. "Once we're back on board the Normandy, Dr. Chakwas can get you all patched up. Then we can figure out where to drop Oriana off that she'll be the safest from the Reapers."

"Thanks, Shepard," Miranda told her, offering her a gentle, grateful smile. "I really appreciate that." Then, turning away from her towards Oriana again, Miranda held out her hand, beckoning for her sister to come with her. "Come on, Ori," she called, causing Oriana to look up at her, attentive. "We're going back to the Normandy. We've had enough of Father's hospitality."

Oriana nodded in agreement, starting to move across the room towards Miranda, but then, seeming to remember something important, she paused, stopping short in her tracks, her expression growing suddenly anxious as she stared at Miranda from across the room. "There is… one other thing, Miri," she told her, speaking haltingly, almost delicately, determinedly minding her words. "These experiments, the ones you saw, the ones with the refugees… well… that's not all Father was doing during his time here. He was also doing… other experiments. Personal experiments. Ones… not sanctioned by the Illusive Man."

"What in the world are you talking about?" Miranda insisted, frigidly, her eyes growing icy cold once more at the mention of her father and his experiments. "What's the son of a bitch done this time, Oriana? Not more experiments in cloning, I hope."

"Well, it's… it's easier to show you than tell you," Oriana answered, truthfully. Then, turning away from her sister again, she beckoned for the group to follow her, leading them through the winding rows of desks to a door hidden at the far room of the research laboratory. Reaching the door, she turned back around, indicating for the group to be quiet, before turning her attention to Miranda again and looking up into her face, pleadingly. "Please promise you won't be angry, Miri," she begged. "I didn't know how else to tell you about this. I only just found out about it myself barely a few days ago, and… I didn't want to risk trying to get in contact with you, not while father was still lurking around."

Miranda huffed disapprovingly, her pale eyes flashing as her dark brows furrowed into a hard, suspicious frown. "I'm not getting any less upset being kept in suspense about it," she told Oriana, bluntly. "Whatever it is, just get it over with. Our father was a sadistic bastard, so whatever this turns out to be, I likely won't be surprised by it."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Oriana answered, shaking her head, apprehensive. Then, passing her omni-tool sensor over the lock on the door, she moved inside the room ahead of the group, quickly making her way over to one of the corners, where a squat, rectangular container of some sort stood hidden behind an arrangement of chairs and a decorative potted plant. Whoever had done the room's arrangement had clearly been in some kind of hurry in doing so, as the clumping together of furniture around the stubby structure in the corner only served to draw more attention to whatever it was. Moving in closer to where Oriana stood, Shepard craned her neck, trying to get a better look at whatever the younger sister was doing, but she did not have to wait long to find out, as Oriana soon turned around from the corner, carrying what looked to be a bundle of blankets in her arms.

"Oh my god," Miranda breathed, rage flushing her cheeks bright pink as she moved over to where her sister stood, causing Shepard to step quickly out of the way so as not to get bowled over. "He _didn't_." Grabbing hold of the edge of the blanket, she pulled the swaddling sharply downward, and when she saw what was underneath, she gave a strangled cry of anger, turning away from the sight of it, barely even able to look at what Oriana held.

The baby in Oriana's arms could not have been more than a few months old, if that. It seemed Henry Lawson had wasted no time in getting straight back to his grisly work after losing Oriana to Miranda for a second time, and this infant was the perfect, mirror-image result. Soft swatches of raven-black hair framed the tiny clone's pale, heart-shaped face, with thick, dark lashes ringing her enormous eyes, and she blinked a few times, seeming surprised, as she stared out of her bundled cocoon at her new, adoring audience. As soon as her clear-blue gaze fell on Shepard, the baby's plump lips broke into a toothless smile, her cheeks lighting up bright pink as she gave a silvery laugh, squirming in joy and holding her arms out in Shepard's direction. "I think she likes you, Commander Shepard," Oriana commented, unable to keep from laughing, herself as she shifted the baby in her arms, trying to get a better hold on her. "Look at how she's smiling! You must have something special."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," Miranda interjected, causing Oriana to look over at her across the room, surprised. "Babies have no capability for judgement of character. Not this early on in development, anyway. What she's probably reacting to is visual stimuli, as this is likely her first time seeing women." Looking down at the baby again, she pursed her lips, watching as the infant stared back at her, evenly, seeming captivated by the sound of her voice. "You, me, Shepard," she added. "Before this, the only people she likely ever saw were our father and the Illusive Man. This is all very new for her."

The baby burbled in response to this, drawing everyone's attention back to herself, before holding her chubby, rosy-dimpled arms out towards Shepard again, demanding, kicking her little legs against her swaddling as she did so. "I think she wants you to hold her, Shepard," Oriana told her, shifting the baby's weight against her arm. Taking a step towards Shepard, she began to hold the infant out towards her, but Shepard quickly took an even larger step back, holding up her hands to decline.

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head, determinedly. "No, no. You… you don't want me holding your sister. I don't have any idea how to hold a baby. I'd probably just drop her. You're better off holding her, believe me." Pressing her hands awkwardly against the sides of her thighs, she offered Oriana a strained, uncomfortably toothy smile. "I'll just look," she told her, forcing a breath of a laugh. "You hold her. It's all good. I'm good."

"Oh come on," Oriana insisted, readjusting the baby in her grasp, causing the infant to give a little, distressed grunt of effort, her cheeks beginning to turn brighter pink with frustration as she reached out more determinedly in Shepard's direction. "Look at her. She really wants you to hold her. Please?"

"You need the practice, anyway," Miranda muttered, barely loud enough for Shepard to hear.

Shepard faltered, throwing Miranda an agitated look, before turning back towards Oriana and letting out a long, defeated sigh. "Okay," she said, holding out her hands awkwardly in the baby's direction. "I'll hold her." Oriana beamed at her acceptance, moving forward towards her, and carefully shifted the baby into her arms, making sure Shepard had a good grip on her before letting her go, and letting Shepard hold her all on her own. The baby was heavier than Shepard had expected, and warmer as well, making her start to sweat in response, though she was not sure if it was because of the baby's warmth or her own overactive nerves. The infant cooed at being held, smiling up into Shepard's face and curling and uncurling her tiny hands, and Shepard swallowed hard, uncomfortable, before offering the infant a strangled half-smile in return. "Hello," she said, awkwardly, her words halting and stiff. "Uh… baby." Then, looking up at Oriana again, she frowned, before tilting her head down towards the baby, inquisitive. "What's her name, anyway?" she asked.

"I think he called her Matilda," Oriana answered, frowning faintly, reaching up a thumb to tap the side of her chin, thoughtfully.

"Matilda?" Miranda repeated, seeming startled, looking up at the name, her eyes wide.

Oriana hesitated, taken aback, before nodding her head in agreement, now seeming a bit hesitant to talk about it. "I… at least, I think he did," she answered again, fairly. "He didn't talk about her very much, understandably… it wasn't a project the Illusive Man was backing, so he didn't want to get in trouble for dedicating too much of his time to it." Moving forward towards Shepard again, she took the infant back into her own arms again, hardly seeming to notice the exhale of relief Shepard gave as the child finally traded hands. "Still," she added, thoughtfully, pulling the baby's blanket up to cover her ears, keeping them from getting cold. "He would sometimes say things about needing to feed Matilda, or change Matilda… so I have to assume her name is Matilda."

"I'm surprised he didn't call her Matti," Miranda huffed, unimpressed.

"No, but I did," Oriana answered, adjusting the baby in her arms. "I thought it went well with our names, Miranda. Miri, Ori, Matti—"

"That child is _not_ one of us," Miranda retorted, cutting her off short. Then, seeing Oriana's mortified expression at her outburst, she bit her lip, feeling suddenly guilty, before quickly adding, "She… she just doesn't deserve that, Oriana. She shouldn't have to know about our father, or anything else to do with us." Crossing her arms across her chest, she gave a short, agitated huff of breath, looking determinedly away from the baby towards the floor, but found that she could not keep her gaze from moving back to the little girl in her sister's arms. An odd, almost longing expression moved across her face as she watched the baby burble happily, her stern countenance slowly softening, until finally she gave another sigh, quieter this time, before turning her full attention back to the infant. "She's lucky she's so young," she said. "She can be adopted by a good family, go to a good home… and forget about us entirely."

"How can you say that, Miranda?" Oriana asked, sounding mortified as she cradled the baby closer to her chest. "She's our sister. It's our responsibility to take care of her. You didn't rest until you knew I was being well cared for—"

"By providing you with a loving family," Miranda countered, looking up at Oriana again, frank. "I didn't have the resources to take care of you on my own, so I made sure you were taken care of by someone else. I loved you, Ori, and I wanted you to be happy, even if your happiness didn't involve me. That's all I'm suggesting for her now. She deserves the same happiness you got, up until this whole fiasco with our father—"

"But why can't _we_ be the ones to take care of her?" Oriana countered, bouncing the baby soothingly in her arms. "We have the resources to take care of her now. Why can't we be her caretakers?"

"It's not just about having resources, Oriana," Shepard cut in, taking a step forward, inserting herself in the conversation. "Taking care of a baby is a huge responsibility. Having the resources is just the first, smallest part of it." Catching sight of Miranda out of the corner of her eye, she faltered, realizing for the first time just how intently the older Lawson was staring at her, her expression tense, almost challenging, as if just waiting for Shepard to slip up and say something wrong. "Having a baby takes over your life," she went on, speaking slower, watching her words carefully. "Anything you might have wanted to do otherwise, any dreams or… professional, educational aspirations you might have wanted to pursue… you have to put it aside. Their wants, their needs, they come before your own. Always." Her frown deepening, she turned her attention towards the tiny Lawson clone, who had begun to suck on the edge of her blanket, her bright blue eyes locked on Shepard, fascinated. "Once you have a baby, you cease to exist as a person," she added, shaking her head. "All that exists anymore is your responsibility to take care of the baby. That's all there is."

"Oh for god's sake," Miranda interjected, exasperated, causing Shepard to turn to look at her, surprised. "It's a _baby_ , Shepard, not a crippling illness. You're not supposed to think of them as a, a… responsibility, a _liability_. It doesn't matter what you wanted to do before. Once you decide to have a baby, they should _automatically_ become your everything." Tossing a swath of dark hair agitatedly over her shoulder, she propped her hands on her hips, frowning over at Shepard, irritated. "Anything you wanted to do before, it means _nothing_ compared to a child," she added. "They're not an inconvenience. They're your flesh and blood. They're a living, breathing part of you."

"That's— I never said you weren't supposed to care for the child," Shepard returned, affronted, her brow furrowing even deeper at the implication. "But it's not as simple as just… loving them unconditionally. Things change with a child. Everything changes. Not only do you have to look out for yourself, but now you've got somebody else who's depending on you, too." Tucking her hands under her arms, she shrugged, trying hard to keep from making a telling face. "Some people just can't do that, Miranda," she told her, honestly. "They can't handle so much responsibility, especially when that responsibility is so fragile."

"But when you have a child, you don't _mind_ having so much responsibility," Miranda countered, resolutely. "When you have a baby, you're supposed to love them. Unconditionally. That's what babies are, Shepard, unconditional love. There's no greater joy than bringing a new life into the world."

"But that's not true for everyone," Shepard argued, her frown deepening again. "Some people prefer to _choose_ when to become a parent, rather than having it dropped on them unexpectedly. Others aren't cut out to be parents at all." Shaking her head, she let out a sharp, exasperated sigh, dropping her hands to her hips, mirroring Miranda's body language. "Not everyone views parenthood the same way you do, Miranda," she told her, pragmatically. "Some people are in love with the idea, but some people are _terrified_ by it."

"There's nothing frightening about having a child," Miranda scoffed, incredulous, crossing her arms stubbornly across her chest.

At this, Shepard faltered, taken aback, unsure whether to be amused or mortified by the conversational turn. "Are—are you kidding, Miranda?" she asked, her tone one of utter disbelief. "Are you joking? You think there's nothing scary about having a child? How about… what about the idea of having to take care of something so much more fragile and small than yourself, when you can barely take care of yourself as it is? What about the thought of having someone dependant on you, someone you have to look at every day, to see the look of disappointment, of betrayal in their eyes every time I do something wrong, every time I fuck something up, any little thing at all?" Her voice began to shake as she spoke, and she hardly even noticed the unintentional, telling slip of narrative pronouns as she turned to face Miranda more forcibly, her hands falling from her hips to curl distractedly at her sides. "With war it's just statistics," she told her, frankly, trying hard to keep her voice from breaking as she continued on. "It's easy to distance myself from statistics. But I can't distance myself from something that's a part of me. I can't distance myself from that little face, those little eyes staring up at me, that little voice saying 'Mommy, why didn't you take care of me right?' And you know what, Miranda? You know what I'm going to have to do? I'm going to have to tell that little voice, those disappointed little eyes, 'it's because I don't fucking know how'!"

Miranda had stopped looking at her by now, unable to make eye contact, her hands cupped over her elbows as she stared intently at the floor, her lips pursed, brow furrowed as she willed herself not to react. Taking a deep, ragged breath, Shepard shook her head, feeling a single, hot tear begin to skate down her face, followed closely by another, but she did not even bother to stop it, too angry and hurt to care. "Maybe I was never meant to be a mother, Miranda," she told her, angrily, as another pair of warm tears rolled down her cheeks. "Maybe it's just me. But that doesn't change the fact that it was an accident, and I am _terrified_. And all I ever wanted to do was try to make it better, try to fix things before I made them so much worse that I'd never be able to forgive myself."

"So what, you're gonna kill it now?" Miranda insisted, looking up at her again, livid. "Now that it has a heartbeat, now that it has fingers and toes? You might as well just throw my sister in the garbage compacter while you're at it, why don't you, Shepard? That's about the route you're going anyway."

"You can't compare your sister to my baby," Shepard shot back, her voice breaking as she pointed an accusatory finger towards Oriana and Matilda. "Your sister is perfect and healthy, and my baby is…!" She stopped, trailing off, hearing the steady throbbing sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears, her face flushed red with anger as she gritted her teeth, unable to finish her statement. Dropping her arm again, she buried her face in her hands, taking a few long, settling, shaking breaths as she tried to regain her composure. Moving up towards her, Liara extended a hand, placing it gently on Shepard's shoulder, but Shepard did not even react, standing frozen in place, like a statue. Then, finally, after a long moment of silence, she lifted her head again, taking in a deep breath, before reaching up to wipe the tears from her face with the back of her armoured hand. "Let's make sure everyone knows about this place," she said, sniffling, turning away from the gathered group to head back into the adjoining laboratory. Making her way to the main computer console, she pulled up Liara's hacking window, completing the override code and submitting it to the system for review.

"Communications scrambler disabled," the smooth female voice reported. Then, having accepted the override, the comm system began to instead blare Miranda's message warning refugees away from Sanctuary over the radio frequency, repeating over and over again to be picked up by any incoming vessels. Having heard the message before, Shepard turned away from the radio, instead lifting a hand to her in-ear comm and activating the connection.

"Cortez, we need a pickup at the tower," she told the pilot.

"Roger that," Cortez quickly confirmed.

Having completed her pickup call, Shepard paused, staring at the floor, before turning and moving towards the elevator again, pointedly not making eye contact with anyone else in the laboratory. "I've had enough of this place," she muttered, and pushed the elevator button going down.

* * *

Shepard stared morosely at her reflection in the mirror of her cabin bathroom, running a thoughtful hand across the curve of her stomach and watching it moving in and out under her thin undershirt as she breathed. Taking a deep breath in, she held it, trying to see what she would look like a little further along, to see if it might be possible to keep up the charade at five months, or six, but then, unable to hold her breath any longer, she let it out in a heavy, frustrated sigh. "Damn it," she swore, quietly, cupping her hands under the swelling girth. As much as she hated to admit it, Javik was right – there was no way she would be able to hide her condition from the rest of her crew for much longer. Even now, at only four months, it had already gotten to a point where she could barely stand to take mess with her crew, not wanting anyone to see her eating and in doing so notice that she had gained weight. Turning to the front again, she frowned, tsk'ing quietly, scolding herself as she ran her fingers over the hollowed-out lines of her collar-bone, reminding herself that while she might not be comfortable eating in front of her crew, she still needed to remember to eat.

Grabbing up her jacket from where she had left it, Shepard pulled it on over her undershirt, zipping it up securely to the top, trying to ignore how much more snugly it seemed to fit than the last time she had worn it. Shaking her head, she huffed, reminding herself that it was likely just her imagination, and she had not actually gotten significantly bigger since earlier that morning. The light at the lower-left edge of her private terminal flashed, letting her know she had gotten a new incoming message, but she ignored it, turning instead towards the door of her cabin and heading for the central elevator, intent on checking up on the Normandy's newest passengers. Miranda and Oriana had taken up boarding in the observation room, which Ashley had been only too happy to surrender over to them, preferring the familiar intimacy of the communal bedding unit. And so, taking the elevator to the main crew floor, Shepard was quick to make her way down the hall towards the observation deck, pausing a moment to allow the weight sensitive door to acknowledge her presence before it slid open with a smooth hiss, allowing her inside.

Both elder Lawson sisters looked up at her immediately as she entered, Oriana offering her a welcoming smile before returning her attention to the work she had been doing before Shepard had entered. "Good to see you're feeling better, Commander," she told her, dragging her finger across what looked to be an elongated horizontal datapad. The projected screen of the pad she used was white, rather than the usual blue or yellow, and Shepard could see through the transparent display that the monitor was covered in thin, dark-brown lines, onto which Oriana was dragging a series of black and gold dots. As she tapped her fingers across the dots, different, thinner lines began to appear between them, connecting them in a calculated pattern, before the screen scrolled to one side, revealing more blank brown lines, which she was quick to set to work on as well. "We were worried about you for a bit, there," Oriana added, looking up from her work again as she flicked her wrist towards the screen, causing it to zoom out to a series of bars, the details now too fine for Shepard to make out. "Or, I was, at least. Miri told me she didn't have to worry because you always bounce back just fine. It's good to see she was right about you."

"Of course I was," Miranda returned, not bothering to look up from her own datapad as she scrolled down a long line of fine white text. "I told you, Ori. I know Shepard. You can't knock her down as easily as the rest of us." Then, looking up from her datapad again, she tilted her head, indicating the seat across from hers, beckoning for Shepard to come closer and sit. Shepard was only too happy to comply, crossing the room and lowering herself down into the padded cushions, stretching her legs out in front of her as she regarded Miranda with interest, watching her balance her baby sister in one arm while perusing her datapad effortlessly with the other. "This room is perfect, Shepard," Miranda told her, hardly seeming to realize she was being watched as she returned her attention to the datapad in her lap. "Just enough room for me and Ori. And that novelty chair makes a great little sleeping nest for Matti. We figured out how to block it in so she wouldn't roll out, and now it's just the right size."

"Matti?" Shepard asked, raising an eyebrow, offering Miranda a knowing half-smile.

Miranda paused, faltering, looking up at Shepard from her work, seeming a bit lost. Then, realizing what she was implying, she looked down at the datapad again, a faint pink blush rising to her pale cheeks as she dragged her thumb across the surface of the screen, flipping over to the next data file. "Yes, well," she said, quieter. "Ori keeps calling her that. I suppose it's grown on me a bit as well." Shepard smiled, nodding along with her explanation, satisfied, before allowing a pause to fall between them, the quiet broken only by the sound of Oriana coughing gently from the far end of the room. After a moment, Miranda looked up again, taking a sharp breath and raising her pristine brows. "She's composing music," she explained, causing Shepard to look up again, confused. "Oriana. That's what she's doing over there. I saw you watching her when you came in. She's writing a piece for violin and cello. I told her I had an interest in learning, so she's writing a piece for us to play together."

"You play the cello?" Shepard asked, intrigued.

"Not yet, no," Miranda corrected her. "But when the war is over, I intend to learn. I've always wanted to play an instrument. A cello seems as good as any."

"Yeah, the cello is great," Shepard agreed. "Bach's first suite is… lovely, a lovely piece."

"You know about cello music?" Miranda asked, looking up at Shepard again, surprised.

"I…" Shepard paused, making a face, crossing one ankle over the other. "I know Bach's first suite," she admitted, awkwardly. "But that's about it. But I like that piece."

"Right," Miranda answered, looking down at her datapad again, swiping her finger to one side again, scrolling to the next file over. "It's a lovely piece, for sure."

"And what are you reading up on?" Shepard asked, quickly changing the subject, lifting her chin to try to get a better look at what was written on Miranda's datapad. Miranda gave a soft snort, tapping a square at the top of the file before lifting the frame for Shepard to see the projected data screen.

"I'm reading your files on Kai Leng," she told her, watching as a pixelated picture of Leng's masked face filled the screen, a small rectangular box of text lighting up along the lower corner with a sparse spattering of informative text. "I was hoping to glean any information I didn't already have on the Illusive Man's pet, but so far I haven't found anything of any real or useful interest… nothing I don't already know, anyway." Setting the pad back in her lap again, she readjusted her baby sister against her opposite thigh, giving her a light, entertaining jostle as she tapped back to the screen she had been on before, returning to her research. "He's crafty and he's mean," she said. "That's really all there is to know about him. That, and he won't hesitate to kill you, so there's no use in trying to reason with him." Giving another soft scoff, she shook her head, flipping to the next page of the data report. "Almost makes you wish the Illusive Man hadn't scrapped that backup Shepard clone," she muttered, chewing thoughtfully on her lip. "At least she might have been reasoned with. Better than this take no prisoners, macho-man nonsense. Pathetic."

"Miranda, can I ask you a question?" Shepard asked, stuffing her hands in her pockets and leaning back against the cushions of her seat. Miranda glanced up at her, fleetingly, seeming a bit puzzled by the inquiry, before returning her gaze to her work again, giving another sideways swipe with her finger.

"I don't see why not," she answered, fairly. "You're the Commander, after all."

"About… your sister," Shepard said, getting right to the point. "Matilda. For some reason… hearing that name made you pretty upset back on Sanctuary." She paused, expectant, watching Miranda for some sort of reaction, but when she got nothing in response, she shook her head, tucking her legs in under her in a more comfortable crossed position. "Is that something personal you'd rather not discuss?" she asked, massaging her ankles distractedly. "It's fine if you don't want to talk about it. I just thought, maybe—"

"Matilda was our mother's name," Miranda spoke over her, cutting her off, her attention still fixed on the datapad in her lap, determinedly not making eye contact. "Henry Lawson's wife. Apparently he loved her very much, or so I'm told." Scoffing, she turned her gaze down towards the floor, resting her datapad absentmindedly against her knee. "Hard to imagine," she admitted, shaking her head. "But the way I understand it, Matilda wanted to have a daughter, but she soon got very sick, too sick to have children. Henry promised he'd give her the daughter she wanted, so he cloned her and made a daughter for her that way, but something went wrong, and the child soon withered and died…" She faltered again, her voice trailing off, her gaze staying fixed pensively on the floor as she thought. "That was Ramona," she finally said, her pristine brow furrowing, her expression hard to read. "She was… the first of us, I suppose. The first Lawson clone. Our mother died not long after, having never gotten to have the daughter she dreamt about. Afterward, our father became… obsessed, with creating the perfect daughter, the perfect clone, one that would never get sick or die young."

Sucking meditatively on her lower lip, Miranda deliberated a quiet moment, tapping the datapad against her knee as the fingers of her other hand played distractedly with the folds of Matilda's blanket-wrap. "He cloned our mother over and over again," she went on, her frown deepening as she thought about it. "But every time something came up in the genetic coding that gave even the faintest implication that the cloned child might possibly get sick or have some infirmity, he would terminate and start all over again. His act of love quickly turned into an act of obsession, and before long it stopped being about his wife and became about him, about his legacy. I thought I'd put an end to his hateful experiments when I took Ori away from him…" Trailing off again, she turned her attention down towards the baby in her lap, staring at her for a moment, considering. "But I guess he had one final 'fuck you' in store for us," she finally added, solemnly. "Naming her Matilda… it's like spitting in our faces. And if I could, I would kill him all over again for it."

"I guess I just don't understand," Shepard admitted, frowning faintly. "Wouldn't naming her after your mother be a good thing? Kind of like… remembering what his work really meant? What he was really doing all this for?"

"Clearly you don't know my father," Miranda huffed, incredulous. "Sentimentality is lost on him. This wasn't an act of tribute, Shepard, it was an act of spite. It was his way of saying that none of the rest of us were good enough or enough like our mother to matter." Taking a deep, weary breath, she looked down at Matilda again, only to find the baby staring up at her, watching her attentively. "Ramona was flawed, but she was lucky," Miranda said, setting her datapad aside to reach down and gently brush Matilda's soft bangs to one side of her forehead. "Her creation was an act of love. Ours was just an act of blind ambition."

"I'm sorry, Miranda," Shepard said, quietly. "I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't," Miranda agreed, looking up at her and shrugging dismissively. "I never told you. I never told Ori, either, for that matter. I wanted her to know as little as possible about our son of a bitch father. I hoped not knowing about him might help her lead a relatively normal life." Then, letting out a soft sigh, she shifted Matilda into the middle of her lap, holding her securely under the arms and beginning to bounce her gently on her knees. "Listen, Shepard," she said, quietly. "I wanted to apologize for earlier. Back at Sanctuary. What I said, the way I said it… I didn't mean to attack you like that. I was just… surprised, and upset, and… jealous, I suppose, is the truth of it. Jealous of my father, jealous of you…" Going quiet again, she wavered, dropping her gaze to the floor again as she continued to bounce the baby on her knees. "It's… it's just not fair, you know?" she finally added, her breath catching in her throat in a soft, choked knot. "I try so hard, and I go to all this trouble, and I can't for the life of me get pregnant. But you… you do it without even _meaning to_. Here you are, thinking about getting rid of your baby, while I…"

Faltering again, her jaw trembled, open, wordless, before she finally closed her mouth, going silent, and looked away again, letting out a short, sharp exhale. "Nothing," she finished, quieter. "It's nothing. Forget I said anything." Pulling Matilda in closer to her, she looked down at the baby, considering her, sadly. In return, Matilda looked up towards her older sister, her pink lips opening inquisitively as she waited for Miranda to start talking again. A long moment of silence passed between them, until, finally, Miranda took a deep breath in, brushing a lock of hair back from her face as she turned her attention up towards Shepard again. "It's none of my business whether you keep your baby or not, Shepard," she concluded, shaking her head, solemnly. "I need to respect that. I questioned your judgment once before, when we were both working for Cerberus, and I was wrong. I won't question your judgment again."

"Miranda…" Shepard sighed, tiredly, watching as Miranda gingerly inspected baby Matilda's tiny, rosy fingers. From across the room, she could see Oriana doing her best to appear detached from the conversation, but she could not help noticing that the younger Lawson had turned her body towards them so as to better hear what was being said. "I'm having the baby, Miranda," she told her, just loud enough for both sisters to hear. Miranda paused, uncertain if she had heard Shepard correctly, before looking up at her again, her brow furrowing, inquisitive. In return, Shepard offered an awkward, assuring half-smile, shrugging her thin shoulders. "It's kind of a new development, but… I'm having it," she repeated, getting used to the sound of the words. "I don't know if I'll be keeping it once I do, but… Liara says there's a good chance someone might be willing to adopt it if it turns out I'm not able to take care of it. You know… afterward."

"Oh, I'm sure," Miranda agreed, quickly, before catching herself and turning her gaze down to her lap again, hiding the faint pink blush on her cheeks, embarrassed by her own enthusiasm. "I mean," she amended herself, just as quickly. "I'm sure there is, Shepard. A market for that. There's bound to be plenty of people looking to adopt children after the war is over."

"That's what I figured, too," Shepard nodded. She paused, watching Miranda for a moment, thoughtful, before pushing herself onto her feet again and crossing the space between them. Reaching down, she tickled one of baby Matilda's pudgy hands, cooing softly, and in return, Matilda squealed, grabbing hold of Shepard's finger and giving it an enthused shake, before bringing it up to her mouth to suck on it. Letting out a soft, surprised laugh, Shepard gently pulled her finger away from the baby's mouth, wiping it off on the leg of her pants before turning her attention to Miranda once more. "Cute baby," she told her, causing Miranda to smile faintly as she dabbed at the side of the baby's mouth with the edge of her blanket, cleaning away a bit of drool. Then, tucking her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, Shepard began to turn away, heading towards the door of the room.

"Shepard," Miranda suddenly called, causing Shepard to turn to face her again, attentive. Miranda paused, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip as she tried to think how to word her question. "Do you have any idea what sort of baby you'll be having?" she finally asked, her brow furrowing a bit. "That is, I mean… have you had a chance to check the gender?"

Shepard paused, a bit taken aback by the clarification, before quickly shaking her head. "Not yet," she answered, truthfully. "Wasn't really sure I'd be keeping it, so it didn't seem relevant to find out the gender. I've been calling it a girl until now, but… that's just a wild guess on my part."

"That makes sense," Miranda conceded, giving a nod in return. "And— Shepard?" Stopping halfway to the door again, Shepard turned to face Miranda once more, raising her brows, attentive. Twisting a lock of hair around her finger, Miranda paused, considering her words, before finally letting her hand drop to her lap again and taking a deep, sincere breath. "Thank you," she told Shepard, softly. "For doing this. I know you aren't doing it for me, but… it still means a lot. So, thank you."

Shepard hesitated, blinking a few times, unsure how to respond, before finally offering Miranda a gentle, sincere smile in return. "You're welcome, Miranda," she told her, honestly. Then, turning towards the door again, she passed through the door of the observation deck, heading out into the Normandy.

* * *

The gunnery door slid open with ease as Shepard approached, allowing her to pass inside without drawing Garrus' attention away from his work. He frowned at the calibration screen, deep in concentration, hardly seeming to notice as she came to stand beside him at the desk, watching as he worked. His hands moved deftly across the holo-keypad as his gaze stayed fixed on the text, watching as it scrolled slowly upward across the screen, picking out the little discrepancies and quickly moving in to fix them. As he completed a line of corrected code, Shepard could hear a gun at the far end of the battery give a soft beep, three small lights at the edge of the screen lighting up as Garrus lifted his head to inspect his work. When he turned his head, he jumped, surprised, noticing Shepard standing there for the first time, but it did not take long for him to regain his easy composure. "Shepard," he greeted her, pleasantly surprised, though still seeming a bit confused. "Sorry about that. Didn't expect to see you there." Then, turning his attention back to his work, he pressed the upward button on the keypad, scrolling the screen back to where it had been before he had been interrupted.

"Sorry," Shepard apologized, crossing her arms to cup her elbows in each opposite palm, thoughtfully. "Didn't mean to startle you. Just wanted to come down to see you, was all."

"Fair enough," Garrus answered, nodding in agreement. "Always happy to have visitors, especially when they're the 'you' variety. Though, truth be told, I've been kind of getting the feeling you've been avoiding me lately." Having said this, he turned his head, regarding her with one bright, telling avian eye, before returning his attention to his work once more. "Probably just my imagination," he admitted, giving a soft snort of breath. "Still, a guy can't help but wonder sometimes."

"I…" Shepard started to say, but closed her mouth, thinking it over. Telling him that she had not been purposefully avoiding him lately would be a lie, and she had never been much good at lying, especially to people who knew her well. "I've just… been kind of busy, you know," she finally told him, truthfully, giving a half-hearted shrug of her shoulders. "Reapers and all. Not a lot of time for fraternizing."

"Right, right," Garrus agreed, nodding along, good-naturedly. "Those pesky Reapers. And Cerberus, too."

"Oh, yeah, Cerberus is the worst," Shepard said, giving a soft, forced breath of a laugh.

"Right. So," Garrus told her, getting right to the point, turning to face her and leaning interestedly against his calibration console. "Speaking of Cerberus… Sanctuary. I heard you guys infiltrated some kind of Cerberus operation while you were there. I bet that was pretty gruesome."

"'Gruesome' is a good word for it," Shepard agreed, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as she let out a low, tired sigh. "I'd honestly rather not think about it. Some of the stuff they were doing there… you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy."

"Well, unless your enemy is Cerberus," Garrus countered. "Then, maybe… taste of their own medicine and all that." Shepard did not respond to this, her gaze dropping to the floor of the gunnery, the toe of her boot digging awkwardly into the floor as the conversation ground to an uncomfortable, quiet halt. Garrus frowned, realizing he had said something wrong, and glanced away towards the door, trying to think of how to fix the situation, before looking back at Shepard again and clearing his throat. "It's great that Miranda is back," he commented, changing the subject and getting her attention again. "That baby with her, though – is that hers?"

"Her sister," Shepard corrected, shaking her head, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"Oh, it's her sister's baby?" Garrus asked, intrigued. "That makes more sense."

"No, the baby is her sister," Shepard told him, correcting him again. "The baby is the sister of Miranda and her sister. They're—they're all sisters."

"Oh," Garrus said, blankly. "That's…" Reaching up a hand, he scratched absentmindedly at his scaly neck, thinking it over, before letting out a soft, confused breath of laughter and letting his hand drop back to his work. "About as complicated as I'd expect from Miranda," he admitted.

Shepard nodded, offering him a vague, half-attentive smile, before it began to slowly fade away again, her attention drifting once more towards the floor of the gunnery. With the topic now exhausted, another uncomfortable pause fell on the room, the soft sound of beeping machinery in the background filling the air between them, seeming to stretch on endlessly. "Garrus," Shepard finally spoke up again, breaking the silence as she looked up at him, intent. "I have… something to tell you. Something really important. But I can't tell you what it is just yet, so… you're just going to have to trust me." Worrying nervously at her lower lip, she took a deep breath in, frowning as she stared up into his earnest face, meeting his eyes, his bright blue gaze attentive as he stared back at her, concernedly, hanging onto her every word. "I'll tell you as soon as we get back from the Illusive Man's base," she added, more determinedly now. "I just… I have to take care of Cerberus. This is really important to me. It's personal. But once that's done, I promise I'll tell you."

Another pause settled between them, with Garrus staring back at her, silent and patient, as if waiting for more. Then, realizing more was not going to come, he took a deep, thoughtful breath, tilting his head as he leaned his palm against the edge of his calibration console. "I feel like you've been trying to tell me about… whatever this is, for a long time," he told her, honestly, only half-joking. "But, I guess… that's fair enough. I trust your judgement, Shepard, and I know how important this mission is to you. So whatever it is you've been trying to tell me… I'm sure it can wait until after this mission." He paused, considering this for a moment, before his expression shifted again, this time into a reassuring half-smile. "I just hope you don't forget about it in the meantime," he added, playfully. "I'd hate to be kept waiting another couple months while you try to remember again."

Shepard faltered, taken aback, before giving a soft, forced breath of a laugh in return. "Yeah," she agreed, quietly, looking down at the floor and tucking an uncomfortable lock of hair behind her ear. "That would be pretty bad, wouldn't it?"


	29. WEEK SEVENTEEN, Pt.1

The incoming message button was flashing by the time Shepard made her way down to the vidcomm room, and she was quick to acknowledge it, standing to attention as Hackett's holographic form solidified in the pit in front of her. Tucking his hands behind his back, Hackett gave a soft, approving grunt of greeting, giving Shepard only one quick glance over before getting immediately down to business. "I wasn't in favour of your diversion to Sanctuary, Commander," he informed her, his brow furrowing into a solemn line, though his tone remained conversational. "Too many unknowns. But, I was wrong. The Cerberus lab you raided hinted at something big, but we never expected this. All those refugees, all that… slaughter… just to study indoctrination."

"Sanctuary did need to be shut down, Sir," Shepard agreed, solemnly. "What they learned about the Reapers wasn't worth all those lives."

"It's useful intel, Commander," Hackett counteracted, thoughtfully. "But you're right, the cost was too high. Do we have a location on the Illusive Man?"

"Yes," Shepard reported, offering an assuring, resolute nod of confirmation. "We have former Cerberus operative Miranda Lawson on board, and she's guiding us to his base of operations."

"Former Cerberus operative?" Hackett asked, his greying brow furrowing deeper, wary. "Are you certain she can be trusted?"

"I'd trust Miranda with my life, Sir," Shepard informed him, frankly.

"Then I trust your judgement," Hackett conceded, nodding in return. "And that's excellent news, Commander. It gives us a fighting chance to take Cerberus out of this war."

"Agreed," Shepard returned, decisively. "We need to end Cerberus and focus on the Reapers."

"My thoughts exactly," Hackett agreed. "Hackett out."

The conversation was a short one, but effective nonetheless. With Hackett's approval under her belt, Shepard wasted no time in making her way back to the navigation deck to check on the status of the Normandy's course to the Cerberus base. They were still a ways off, having just barely started their excursion, but it gave her a much-needed boost of confidence to know that they were hot on the Illusive Man's trail, despite his best efforts to throw them off course and remain hidden from the Alliance's eyes. Taking her leave from the navigation deck, she took the elevator down to the main crew level, turning sharply as soon as the doors opened to make her way towards the Life Support room. The door of the room had been left unlocked, allowing her to pass through easily as soon as the weight sensor detected her approach, and she lingered in the doorway a moment, wary not to disrupt anything that might be going on inside. Knocking gently on a nearby cabinet, she waited for Thane to turn around, and when he did, she offered him an amicable, encouraging half-smile, letting her hand drop back to her side.

"Have a moment?" Shepard asked, raising her brows, hopefully. "If now's a bad time, I can always come back later—"

"Now is fine," Thane assured her, beckoning for her to come closer, before turning around in his seat again and indicating towards the seat across from him at the table. "Please, come sit down. It's been a while since we've had a chance to talk. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Settling herself down in the chair across from him, Shepard let out a soft sigh, stretching her legs out under the table as she folded her hands in front of her, attentive. "No reason in particular," she told him, offering a thin shrug of her shoulders. "Just thought I'd stop by and see how you're doing."

"I see," Thane returned, offering a thoughtful nod. "I thought perhaps you were coming to check in on me. See how I was taking the news of Doctor T'Soni's discovery. Though, a casual conversation is as good a reason as any to stop by, as far as I'm concerned." Taking a deep breath, he folded his hands in front of him on the tabletop as well, mirroring her action, barely seeming to notice as her expression began to change from friendliness to confusion the longer the pause drew out following his statement about Liara and her mysterious, unnamed discovery. "Perhaps better than any other, though I'm not sure I have much new to talk about, I'm afraid," Thane went on, seemingly oblivious to her confusion. "I've been exchanging e-mails with Kolyat recently, but he's very vague on what he's been up to since last we spoke. Got that trait from me, I suppose. I can't really fault him for it, though it does make it difficult to check in on him. I've been trying to read between the lines, but he's been remarkably astute at leaving precious little there to read—"

"Hold on," Shepard spoke up, holding up a hand to stop him before he could continue on. "What was that about Liara discovering something?"

"Oh, I'm sorry – Doctor T'Soni found someone to do my operation," Thane answered, evenly, as if he were discussing an interesting streak of weather patterns. "I figured that was what you were here for. I'm taking it quite well, by the way. You can thank Doctor T'Soni for her vigilance. I thanked her once already, myself, but I think she would like to hear it again. I know she went to a lot of trouble to set up the operation for me, so she deserves as much appreciation as she can get."

"Yeah, no, yeah, of course," Shepard agreed, still dazed, blinking a few times in surprise. "But just, wha… wh—when did she tell you? Who did she get to do the operation?"

"You don't already know?" Thane asked, seeming just as surprised by this as she was. "I apologize, Shepard. I assumed Doctor T'Soni had told you already. I figured you would be one of the first people to know about it, all things considered."

"No, Liara never told me," Shepard answered, shaking her head. "I guess she figured she didn't want to disturb me, or…" She trailed off, considering, before shrugging her shoulders, unable to think of a suitable explanation. "I don't know why she wouldn't have told me," she admitted. "Maybe she just forgot."

"Perhaps," Thane agreed, thoughtfully, giving a slow bob of his head in return. "Regardless, she managed to do it… somehow. I'm not sure about the details. Apparently she had to pull a few strings as Shadow Broker to make it happen, but I'm all lined up for departure whenever we next get a chance to stop by the Citadel." Unfolding his hands, he opened them up towards her, taking in a deep, confident breath. "It's going to be expensive," he told her, warily. "But the Alliance said they would be willing to pay for a portion of it. The rest I'd have to work off, likely for a few years, but the way I see it, two or three years of hard labour is hardly worth squabbling over in exchange for fifteen to twenty more years of life." Folding his hands in front of him again, he paused, thoughtful, clearing his throat gently before adjusting himself more comfortably in his chair, regarding her solemn expression from across the table. "You seem concerned, Shepard," he told her, frankly, not bothering with pretence. "Is there something on your mind you'd like to talk about?"

At this, Shepard looked up at him, a bit surprised by the straightforward question, before quickly shaking her head and dropping her gaze to her hands again. "Not really," she told him, letting out a short, soft huff. "Just… thinking, is all. About your operation." Falling silent again, she frowned, considering, one thumb tapping anxiously against the knuckle of the opposite hand as she tried to think of the best way to word her next question. "What…" she started to ask, but quickly cut herself short again, biting anxiously at the inside of her lip. Her brow furrowed even deeper, her eyes searching a spot on the table between them, trying to piece together what she was trying to say. "How…" she finally started again, looking up at him, tentatively. "How… have… you always managed to keep such a positive outlook about things, even though you knew you were dying of Kepral's?"

Thane seemed surprised by the question, and for a moment he said nothing, merely sitting in rigid silence, his shoulders square, his hands folded dutifully in front of him on the table, the filmy membranes flickering over his sheer black eyes as he stared at her, contemplative. "I mean," Shepard added, quickly amending herself. "What I meant was – how do you always manage to stay so optimistic? I've never known you to complain or be morbid about your disease, even though I've done some research so I know how much pain you must be in. You had no idea until just recently that it was even possible for you to get this operation that could save your life, but even so, I never once heard you lamenting on your quality of life, or how much time you had left. How do you do it?"

Thane paused, his dark eyes thoughtful as they travelled slowly downward, finally coming to rest on his folded hands, the filmy membranes flashing over them a few times as he considered her question. "The world is full of incredible things, Shepard," he finally answered, his voice even, causing her to frown a bit, attentive. "You could live a thousand years and still never witness everything the universe has to offer. The asari are proof of that. Living with Kepral's… has never been easy. But I do know it's still preferable to not living at all." Turning his attention up towards her then, he watched her a moment, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side as the membranes flickered over his eyes again. "Just being alive to witness everything I've witnessed has been life enough for me," he told her, speaking genuinely. "I've done so many things in my lifetime, Shepard… I fell in love, got married, had a son… lost my wife… made a friend. I consider the time I had with you to be an important part of my life as well."

"We were pretty good together," Shepard admitted, offering him a thin, sad smile.

"More than good," Thane agreed. "But lamenting things lost only does their memory a disservice. I have… a vivid and detailed recall. You know this about me. I know where I've been. But dwelling on it is pointless. I've learned that it's better to look ahead than to focus on what's been left behind." Tapping his thumb distractedly against the knuckle of the opposite hand, he frowned faintly, contemplative, his black eyes growing distant for a moment before coming back into focus on Shepard again. "Having a short life is better than having no life at all," he told her, matter-of-factly. "At least, that's what my experience has been. I know I've had a good life. And look at salarians – they only live to be forty, forty-five at the most. What time the rest of us take for granted as our youth is what salarians have as the entirety of their lives."

"I… never really thought about it that way," Shepard admitted, feeling suddenly very guilty.

"When you have only a few months left to live, you tend to think about these things more than you otherwise might," Thane apprised her, offering a thin shrug of his shoulders. "But, even if Doctor T'Soni hadn't managed to find me a donor and a doctor for my Kepral's, I still would be satisfied with the life I've led thus far. And that's all that really matters." Taking in a deep, pensive breath then, he pressed his folded hands more firmly together, his posture seeming to square as he considered her. "If I spent all my time thinking about how I was going to die, I might not even have bothered living at all," he told her, speaking earnestly. "But I'm glad I didn't. I'm glad I didn't let the fact that I was in pain and knowing I had only a limited time left get in the way of me living what life I had. Otherwise I might have missed out on so many wonderful things."

"Like meeting me," Shepard joked, halfheartedly.

"Like that, yes," Thane agreed, offering a deep, soft chuckle in return.

Shepard nodded along with the joke, only half attentive, her thin smile wavering as her gaze dropped back to her hands again, falling once more into thoughtful, worried silence. "So…" she started to ask, her gaze flicking up towards him before returning to her hands again, self-conscious. "You honestly think… it's better to live a short life in pain, than not to live at all?"

Taking a deep breath in, Thane held it a moment, contemplative, before finally letting it out in a long, thin exhale. "That's just my take on the matter," he answered, fairly, taking his time with his words. "It might not be the same for everyone."

"I knew a batarian once… named Ghorek," Shepard told him, looking up at him again, her brow furrowing faintly as she thought back to that terrible moment. "He was in pain and on life support, and he begged me to take him off of it rather than make him continue to live in agony. Do you think… there's a point, where a short life in pain…might _not_ be preferable to living?"

"I think… that that was his decision," Thane returned, decisively. "The other side of the argument. I think that it's important that everyone should be able to make that decision for themselves, but I also believe it's better to give them the chance to decide, rather than to decide for them."

"But…" Shepard wet her lips, taking a sharp, antsy breath in as she moved her chair a bit closer to the table, readjusting herself anxiously in her seat. "What about someone who is physically incapable of making that kind of decision for themselves?" she asked, speaking tentatively, now invested in the conversation, eager to know what he had to say. She had almost forgotten how good of a conversationalist Thane could be when it came to topics of ethics and morality. "Someone whose life or death decision has to depend on someone else? Someone in a coma, or… an unborn child? What course of action would you suggest they take?"

Thane paused, his membrane lids flickering a few times as he considered her question, his expression unmoving as he stared straight ahead at her, steadfast. "Are you pregnant, Shepard?" he finally asked, making no qualms about his question.

Shepard blanched, her nails digging into her skin as her folded hands suddenly clenched more tightly together. "No," she answered, quickly, shaking her head. "I'm just… I was just wondering what your feelings were on the matter. That was all."

"Your ankles are hurting you," Thane observed, astutely, sitting perfectly poised as he began his explanation. "They're likely swollen. You keep picking them up, crossing them, resting them against the legs of the chair because the metal is cool. They're never quite still." Shepard faltered, embarrassed by his observation, pulling her ankles away from the legs of her chair to cross them awkwardly under the table instead. "I can see the outline of your breasts through your jacket when I couldn't before," Thane continued, straightforwardly. "I only notice because you keep purposefully not touching them, probably because they're hurting you as well." At this, Shepard quickly lifted a hand to her hoodie, gripping it self-consciously, pulling the material a little closer together at the front. "When you lifted your arms earlier while you were talking, I could see that you're wearing a belt to keep your pants up," Thane went on, tilting his head a bit to one side. "But you haven't zipped the zipper, which could mean you simply forgot when you last went to the bathroom, but since you remembered enough to consciously put on the belt, I figure that's unlikely. You avoid eating certain foods that you used to eat, likely because they don't smell palatable to you anymore. You changed armour a few weeks back to something with more weight to it, with an artillery belt that specifically covers your waistline—"

" _All right_ ," Shepard pleaded, holding up a hand to stop him. "Stop. _Please_."

"It's entirely possible that I may simply be incorrect," Thane concluded, blinking a few times, astutely. "But those are my observations, regardless."

"I am, okay?" Shepard told him, sinking down lower towards the table, speaking just loudly enough for him to hear her. "I'm pregnant. I am. But… please don't tell anyone, Thane. I'm not ready for everyone to know just yet."

"It wasn't my intention to spread it around," Thane assured her, frankly, offering her a reassuring shrug. "However, I do appreciate you sharing your secret with me. It does clear up a few discrepancies I had about your behaviour the past few months."

Shepard frowned, opening her mouth, preparing to counter his statement, before quickly thinking better of it and closing her mouth again, tightly. "Right," she answered, pokerfaced. "That's good. I'm glad it cleared things up."

"Have you determined your child's gender yet?" Thane asked, blinking a few times, interested.

Shepard shook her head, wringing her hands distractedly in front of her as she itched to uncross her ankles under the table. "Not yet," she told him, giving a short, contemplative huff of breath. "Honestly, I don't know if I _want_ to know the gender."

"Understandable," Thane acknowledged, giving a short bob of his head. "Kolyat was also left as a surprise until his birth. Irikah was convinced she was going to have a boy from the very beginning. I told her I would be happy with whatever we had, but honestly, I was hoping for a boy, too." Giving a soft, musing grunt, he smiled, lifting his folded hands from the table to rest them thoughtfully against his chest. "When Kolyat was born, a healthy baby boy, we offered up a prayer to Arashu, the drell goddess of motherhood and protection, thanking her for watching over our family," he continued, reflectively. "Irikah was not particularly religious – she was a scientist, so she believed primarily in logic over idealism – but she was only too happy to pray along with me."

"She sounds like a wonderful woman," Shepard told him, offering him a thin, supportive smile.

"She was," Thane agreed, returning his hands to the table in front of him. "And so are you, Shepard. A much better woman than you give yourself credit for. And whatever you decide to do concerning your child, I wholeheartedly believe it will be the right thing."

Shepard flinched at his unexpected vote of confidence, her gaze dropping quickly from his face to her folded hands, pressing the pads of her thumbs together so hard they began to turn sickly white. "No pressure or anything," she joked, weakly, offering him a thin, forced breath of a laugh. Then, clearing her throat, she wet her lips, forcing herself to look up at him again. "Thank you, Thane," she told him, more seriously. "You know I respect your opinion of me. That really… means a lot, coming from you."

"I didn't think you cared what anyone thought of you," Thane teased back, good-naturedly.

At this, Shepard smiled weakly, one corner of her mouth turning upward in a sincere dimple despite her discomposure. "Don't tell anyone," she joked back, softly. "Don't want to lose my reputation as stone-cold indifferent badass."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Thane conceded, offering a deep, throaty chuckle in return.

* * *

The talk with Thane had been more than satisfactory, leaving Shepard feeling not only enlightened, but somehow lighter on her feet, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders simply by speaking with her drell crewmate. The door of Liara's cabin slid open as Shepard approached, and Liara looked up quickly at the sound, seeming only momentarily interested to see Shepard standing in the entryway of her room before returning her attention back to her computer screens and starting to type something into the keypad. "Hello, Shepard," she greeted her, casually, reaching up to adjust one of the screens on her panoramic display. "Nice of you to check in on me."

"Thought you might need some agreeable company," Shepard returned, jokingly, glancing over her shoulder towards Glyph, who hovered helpfully at waist level, waiting for his next command. "You spend all your time surrounded by computers, one of these days you're gonna turn into one."

"That's funny," Liara told her, noncommittal. "How is Miranda, by the way? Speaking of checking up on people."

"She'll make a recovery," Shepard answered, propping her hands distractedly on her hips as she peered over Liara's shoulder, trying to make out what she was typing. Seeing this, Liara quickly waved a hand in her face, shooing her away from the computer screens, and Shepard frowned, taking a few steps back again, thwarted but not entirely surprised. "Oriana's doing okay, too," she added, taking her hands from her hips to fold her arms over her chest instead. "Keeping busy. And Matilda seems to be adjusting well. She's got those Lawson genes, I guess… gotta make for a pretty smart baby."

"I suppose," Liara returned, barely bothering to look up from her typing as she spoke. "I'm not entirely surprised they're doing well. Miranda always struck me as a driven woman, so it stands to reason that her sisters would be similarly resilient." Turning her attention towards Shepard then, she took in a deep breath, raising her painted brows. "Either way, I'm glad she made it," she added, matter-of-factly. "Was there something you needed, Shepard?"

"Yes," Shepard answered, her voice determined despite the weakened feeling in her knees as she prepared to make her request. "I want you to do an ultrasound for me."

Liara faltered, blinking a few times, surprised, her gloved hands hovering over her keypad, her work forgotten. "I'm sorry, what was that?" she finally asked, speaking carefully, as if she half expected Shepard to interrupt her at any moment to tell her she was joking. "I thought I heard you say you wanted me to do an ultrasound for you."

"I did say that," Shepard confirmed, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as she tapped the heel of her boot distractedly against the metal-plated floor. "Chakwas isn't in there right now, so now's our only chance to get it done. You think you can do it for me, Liara?"

"Shepard…" Leaning one hand against her console keyboard, Liara turned to face her, letting out a hefty, put-upon sigh as she turned her malt-blue gaze up towards her, exasperated. "The 'Doctor' in front of my name is not an interchangeable catch-all prerogative to practice whatever type of research I deem fitting on any particular day," she explained, bluntly. "I study archaeology and history, not medicine and prenatal care. Besides, I don't know that I'd have any idea _how_ to do a sonogram, even if I wanted to."

"The Normandy's medbay has the tools," Shepard offered, jerking her thumb helpfully over her shoulder in the general direction of the medbay. "Mordin's used the 4D-imager on me before – for different reasons, but still. From what I've seen, everything seems to be more or less button-press tech. Relatively easy to figure out… especially for someone of your high intelligence."

At this unexpected compliment, Liara's plum lips pursed together in a tight, embarrassed line, a faint purple blush rising to her cheeks as she quickly looked away again, back towards her bevy of computer screens. "Flatterer," she said, her voice just loud enough for Shepard to hear her. Then, looking back up towards Shepard again, she took in a short, sharp breath, holding it, pensively, before finally letting it out in a soft, huffy exhale. "Why do you want me to do it for you, anyway?" she asked, frowning. "I'm sure Doctor Chakwas would do a much better job of it. She actually knows what she's doing, after all."

"Liara, you know I can't go to Chakwas about this," Shepard sighed, exasperated. "She'll forward my information directly to Admiral Hackett and I won't be allowed out in the field anymore. I need you to do it so that doesn't happen."

"Maybe it would be for the best if you didn't go out in the field anymore," Liara answered, frankly, standing a bit straighter at her desk. "You're four—almost four and a half months pregnant, Shepard. Do you have any idea what that means? It means you're _halfway due_."

"Listen," Shepard told her, suddenly serious, pulling a hand from her pocket to point it towards the scientist, accusatory. "I didn't want to do this, but you owe me, Liara. Why didn't you tell me you found someone to do Thane's operation? Don't you think that's something I'm entitled to know?" Folding her arms across her chest, she tucked her hands under her armpits, scoffing, nonplussed. "What were you going to do?" she asked. "Were you just going to let me go on thinking my friend was going to die a slow and painful death, and there was nothing we could do about it?"

"Thane is my friend, too, Shepard," Liara reminded her, frustratedly. "But yes, you're right, I did get someone. Someone who isn't Maelon. This doctor seems like a good person, altogether, and all his credentials checked out. He works at a prestigious university, or he did, before the Reapers started attacking." She paused, worrying contemplatively at her lower lip, her brow furrowing a bit deeper as she gave this some thought. "I'm not sure what became of the university after the more widespread attacks started," she admitted, resting a thoughtful hand against her hip. "Either way, the understanding was that his first priority would go to that – his university work – but that he has his own research lab where he practices experimental medicine outside of his university studies as well. He assured me he would be able to do the operation there with little trouble, if I could locate a donor. I didn't want to tell you until I had located a definitive donor, but…" She stopped again, trailing off, before finally shrugging, exasperated. "I guess there's no use hiding secrets from you," she told her, sighing, regretfully. "You've got that particular feat down to an artform."

"So you found a doctor, but not a donor?" Shepard asked, warily.

"Well, yes and no," Liara answered, truthfully. "I found a doctor, and he said he would do everything in his power to help me to find a donor. He said that sometimes when people die, they donate their bodies to universities like his for use in scientific research, and if he can get the university board to approve his request, he might be able to get the lungs from a healthy drell subject… if they have one available." Taking a deep breath, she turned her attention away from her panoramic setup, folding her arms across her chest as she let out a tired sigh, her brow furrowing faintly, serious. "If not, he says he might be able to put out a request to hospitals and other universities with similar practices, and see if one of them might be able to ship a pair of healthy drell lungs over in frozen storage," she added. "It won't be easy, of course, and he doesn't know if there's a way to ensure the organ will arrive in fresh enough condition to be useable for a transplant, even if he does find one… but it's the best lead I've got right now. That's really all there is to it, Shepard. I wasn't trying to deceive you. I just didn't want to pretend give you news when I've only got… half-news, to give."

"I appreciate your honestly, Liara," Shepard told her, nodding in understanding. "But I still want you to do the sonogram for me."

" _Shepard_ ," Liara huffed, exasperated, throwing out her hands at her sides. "I'm not doing your sonogram! It's unethical, for one, and two, if I do something wrong, someone could get seriously hurt." Bringing a hand up to her head, she massaged her forehead, frustrated. "I just can't take that risk, Shepard," she told her, frankly, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I just can't."

Shepard frowned, thwarted, unsure what else there was to say on the matter. Then, thinking on her feet, she shrugged, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as she began to turn away from Liara again, slowly starting to make her way towards the door of the cabin. "That's okay," she sighed, sadly, laying it on as thick as possible. "I guess I should have known you wouldn't want to do my sonogram. You're just not a risktaker, Liara. Guess I'll just have to ask Miranda to do it for me instead."

"Miranda?" Liara asked, looking up from her work again, bristling instantly. "Miranda's not a doctor of _any_ kind, Shepard. She won't have any idea how to do a sonogram, either."

"I know," Shepard answered, holding out her hands, defeated. "But if you won't do it, and Doctor Chakwas can't do it, who else am I supposed to ask? You know, I bet I could ask EDI to do it. She'd probably be willing to help me out." Sighing again, she made a face, twisting her mouth to one side and raising her brows as her hands returned forlornly to the pockets of her hoodie. "Would have been nice if you'd been the first one to actually _see_ my baby," she added, dejectedly, making sure Liara heard every word. "But you know, I really just can't ask you to take that kind of risk…"

Liara pursed her lips, her cheeks puffing out ever so slightly at this implication, her entire freckled face flushing faintly purple, looking as though she were about to explode. Then, gritting her teeth, she gave a sharp huff of breath, letting out a short, soft growl before turning away from her computer setup and striding forward towards Shepard, taking hold of her elbow and starting to lead her out the door of her cabin and in the direction of the Normandy's medbay. "You're insufferable," Liara muttered, checking warily over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching them go inside. "I hope you know that, Shepard."

"You love it," Shepard joked back, smirking, before watching as the door of the medbay closed behind them, sealing them surreptitiously inside. Liara quickly moved to the open windows, pressing the buttons beside each one to make the metal shades slide down over them, hiding the interior of the medbay from the prying eyes of the mess hall. Then, turning her attention towards Shepard again, she huffed again, anxiously, before offering a quick, indicative hand gesture in Shepard's direction.

"Take your jacket off," Liara instructed her. "We need to do this quickly, before Doctor Chakwas comes back." Shepard complied immediately, unzipping her hoodie and tossing it aside on Chakwas' computer chair before moving to the examination table and pushing herself up onto it. She watched as Liara flitted around the medbay like a frantic flying insect, pulling the needed supplies from shelves and piling them up on the examination table beside Shepard. "Where's the 4D-imager?" Liara asked, fidgeting with her hands, out of breath. "The simple one you said you had." Shepard pointed quickly to a cabinet at the far end of the medbay, and Liara was hasty to follow her lead, making her way over to the cabinet and standing on her toes to retrieve what looked to be a datapad-sized tablet from the top shelf, followed by some sort of four-legged stand. Returning to where Shepard still sat waiting, Liara waved her hand again, indicating for Shepard to lie flat on her back, and when she did, Liara pushed her shirt up to her ribcage, settling the stand into place over her stomach. Shepard felt a tingling sensation as the four feet-like sensors began to take a reading, watching with interest from her unusual vantage point as Liara clicked the imager into place on the level part of the reader, syncing the two, tapping the reader screen as she waited for the parts to recognize one another.

Slowly, a picture began to appear on the imager, growing more definitive as the readers continued emitting more waves, getting a clearer picture of the form inside Shepard's body, and Liara gave a soft gasp of delight as the image slowly began to sharpen into recognisability. "By the goddess," she breathed, beaming as she pressed an enchanted hand to her chest. "What a beautiful little creature." Then, looking up at Shepard again, she raised her painted brows, a small, puckish smile beginning to creep across her joyful features. "Do you want to know the gender?" she asked, watching her face, hopefully.

Shepard hesitated at the unexpected question, turning her attention up towards the ceiling, her thumbs fidgeting against the edge of her undershirt as she debated whether learning the baby's gender would change things too drastically for her comfort. On the one hand, she desperately wanted to know if her preemptive predictions of having a girl had been correct, but on the other, the idea of learning that the lifeform inside her had a gender, an identity, was more terrifying than she cared to admit, even to herself. Moving her hands gingerly across the unfamiliarly distended surface of her stomach, she frowned, silently weighing her options. "Yes," she finally answered, before her self-doubt could stop her again. Liara nodded, turning her attention back to the datatool that sat perched on the curve of Shepard's stomach and inputting a short command into the tool. She watched as the imager emitted a soft beep, the ghostly picture on the screen sharpening, little by little, the readers pulsing a bit faster as they moved direction, searching for the baby's pelvic bone. Having found what she was looking for, Liara quickly pulled up her omni-tool, scanning the data from the 4D-imager and pulling it up on her omni-tool screen instead to more easily show it to Shepard.

"Look at that," Liara told her, moving closer to her head, her purple lips curving into a soft smile as she indicated towards the screen. "Isn't that wonderful, Shepard? It's a lovely little girl, just like you thought it would be."

"A girl?" Shepard asked, craning her neck to get a better look at the screen. "Are you sure it's a girl, Liara?"

"Pretty sure," Liara answered, moving her omni-tool even closer so Shepard could more easily see. The ultrasound was difficult to figure out, but she could just make out the definitive outline of a tiny form curled up comfortably in the foetal position, its miniscule hands balled into loose fists, its little toes curled up tightly, making it impossible to figure out how many fingers or toes the baby had. From what Shepard could tell of the baby's physiology, it appeared to be almost human, but she figured it still had four or five more months of growing to do before she could say definitively which parent it more closely resembled. Pointing to the screen then, Liara drew Shepard's attention to a spot on the ultrasound near the baby's pelvic region. "Now, I'm no expert," she told her, teasingly. "But I'm pretty sure this is usually where you'd look to check for a human baby's gender."

"You're a jerk," Shepard told her, causing Liara to laugh in response, only to quickly hush herself again, not wanting to get them caught. Selecting the portion of the image, Liara expanded it on the screen, blowing it up so Shepard could more easily see it.

"There doesn't seem to be any obvious appearance of human male genetalia," Liara told her, drawing a small circle around the area with her finger. "But to be fair, you're only about four months in, so it's possible that not all the signs have developed yet. I'm pretty sure it means your baby is going to be a girl, though." Disabling the display on her omni-tool, Liara allowed the ghostly image to flicker out before unclenching her hand and allowing the glowing arm-brace structure to fade out as well. "A little Commander Shepard," she mused, reaching forward to move the imager and reader off of Shepard's still-exposed stomach. "If she's anything like you, the Alliance is going to have their hands full when she gets older."

"Probably," Shepard answered, weakly, trying her best to return the good-natured humour, but to little avail. "Depending on what their policy is on cross-species applicants." Sitting up on the examination table, she slowly swung her legs over the side, allowing her feet to dangle towards the floor, her gaze resting, pensive, on her bony knees. The idea of having a little girl turned over and over in her mind; despite having called the baby a 'she' up to that point, herself, something about being told definitively that she was having a baby girl felt strangely uncomfortable, and she almost found herself wishing Liara had not told her, instead allowing the baby's gender to remain a secret up until the very last. Something about knowing she was carrying a little girl inside of her made her sick with worry, knowing that what had until then been simply an idea was now a real, quantifiable being, a person, a child with a body and a gender – something to protect, rather than just something to ponder.

Just then, the sound of the medbay doors sliding open caught Shepard's attention, and she panicked, dropping to her feet from the table and scrambling forward to snatch up her hoodie from where she had tossed it aside, pulling it haphazardly on and zipping it up quickly. Chakwas seemed surprised as she entered the medbay, her plucked brows rising towards her hairline as she glanced between her two unexpected, guilty-looking visitors. Turning her attention to Shepard first, she looked her up and down, noting the frazzled appearance and lopsided jacket, before returning her gaze to Liara again, her expression much more knowing. Then, shaking her head, she moved over to her desk chair, lowering herself down into it and clicking her tongue as she started to type something into her computer.

"There are much better places for that than the medbay," she told the two of them, seeming almost amused despite her scolding.

* * *

The nerves in Shepard's stomach had still not entirely settled after nearly being caught by Chakwas in the medbay, and as she made her way down to the engineering deck of the Normandy, she rested her head against the back wall of the elevator, taking deep, settling breaths as she waited for it to make its smooth descent. The doors slid open with a quiet hiss as she reached the engineering floor, and, after a moment, she pushed herself easily away from the wall of the elevator, tucking her hands into her hoodie pockets as she started down the hallway towards the room at the very end. Despite his apparent desire not to be disturbed, Javik had a habit of leaving his door unlocked, and as the doors slid open to allow her inside, she could feel the significant change in humidity between the outside hallway and the misty interior of his quarters. A soft fog curled around her knees as she made her way inside the room, letting the doors slide shut again behind her again before turning towards the washbasin-desk setup where Javik stood with his back to her, ignoring her presence, as if hoping that not acknowledging her might make her go away.

Moving up to Javik's panoramic holoscreen display, Shepard paused, observing the screens, before allowing a small, knowing smile to creep at the corners of her mouth as she recognized the projected form of the Normandy. The screen on the right showed a front, side, and back view of the ship, with small notes in the corner of the screen on the ship's model, upgrade notes, and schematics, while the two screens to the left of it showed a map of all the different floors and rooms of the ship with small personal notes added in tiny, barely legible text boxes to each one. Glancing up towards the top, she spotted her personal cabin on the map layout, but could not make out the notes attached to it before turning her attention back to Javik again. "Looks familiar," she commented, giving a quick jerk of her head in the direction of the screens.

Javik snorted in response, not even bothering to look up at her as he gave a short nod. "I have been studying this ship," he returned, straightforwardly. "Its crew. There was a Normandy before this one…" He paused here, thoughtful, before finally turning to look up at her, his brow furrowed faintly, interested. "You died in an attack," he told her, more a statement than a question.

"Something like that," Shepard agreed, dismissive.

"But then you were resurrected," Javik pressed, intent. "To fight the Reapers."

Shepard hesitated, considering this assessment, before finally turning to look at Javik and offering him a thin, forced smile. "Maybe you and I have a thing in common," she told him, amicably.

"But you have something else," Javik told her, shifting his body to offer her his full, determined attention. "The reasons you fight are still alive. The friendships of the people around you. And… more." He trailed off, cryptic, allowing his statement to settle. Shepard frowned, fully aware of what he was referring to, and turned her attention away from him again, looking back up towards the images of the Normandy on the holoscreens.

"Without those friendships, all I have in my life is death," she informed him, frankly. "And that's just… not enough."

"Yes," Javik agreed, turning his penetrating gaze away from her for what felt like the first time in ages.

"What about you?" Shepard asked, turning to face him, quickly shifting the focus onto him instead. "I respect your reasons for being here, but I get the feeling there's something more, Javik."

Javik's lips parted, showing his filed yellow teeth, preparing to say something in response, but then, a moment later, he closed his mouth again, reconsidering, allowing a long, thoughtful quiet to settle on the room instead. He paused, contemplative, staring ahead at the far wall of the room, before his tapered brow drew into a hard, pensive frown and he took a thin, deep breath inward. "I once commanded a ship like this one," he finally answered, his voice low, barely loud enough for her to hear him. "A loyal crew, with many friends. It was captured… only I escaped."

"What happened to them?" Shepard asked, her brow furrowing, attentive.

"Indoctrinated," Javik spat, turning to look her way again, the word sour and painful on his tongue. "The Reapers set them against me. Year after year, battle after battle… I was hunted by my own people. Every encounter… a reminder of my failure as a soldier."

"I'm… sorry," Shepard told him, quietly, taking a reassuring step forward towards him. "I had no idea—"

"Until the battle of the Cronian Nebula," Javik continued, barely letting her finish, his eyes growing distant again as he straightened his posture, staring intently at the back wall of the room. "I had only my knife left. I cornered my men… and slit their throats, one by one. I watched them bleed to death to be certain."

Shepard hesitated, feeling suddenly very out of place, unsure what there was to say in response to this. "That…" she started, choosing her words carefully. "Must have been…"

"It was the day I understood," Javik answered, cutting her off, stonily. "War is atrocity committed in the name of survival. It is a lesson I wish I had never learned." Going quiet again, he dropped his gaze, staring down towards the lightly tinkling basin and watching as the surface of the water rippled gently with the flow of the filtration system. Another long moment of silence fell on the room between them, the faint hissing of the humidifiers and soft beeping of the holoscreen the only sounds breaking the impregnable quietude, until, finally, Javik lifted his head again, staring intently at the back wall of the room, before taking a low, deep breath inward. "You were incorrect in your assumption from earlier, Commander," he told Shepard, speaking evenly, just loud enough for her to hear him.

Shepard faltered, taken aback by this unusual statement, blinking a few times in surprise. "What did you say?" she finally asked, still not quite sure she had heard him correctly.

"I said you were incorrect in your assumption about me," Javik repeated, louder this time, seeming completely unfazed at having to repeat himself. "I do give a damn about you. And I have concern for your wellbeing beyond merely a professional level." Turning to face her then, he regarded her with a stern expression, leaning one hand absentmindedly against the edge of the washbasin as he stared at her, considering her, intent. "You are a good commander, Commander," he informed her, matter-of-factly. "Even I cannot deny that. While I may not agree with every decision you make, I trust your judgement implicitly as a warrior, and as a leader." As Javik spoke, Shepard could see the hand resting against the edge of the washbasin begin to slowly curl into a loose fist, as if he were trying hard to hold back all emotionality. "Do not think me heartless," he told her, raising his chin, proudly. "I understand better than most the desire to keep alive that which is important to you, even if it means endangering your own wellbeing. If I could have spared my men, I would, even after their indoctrination. I tried, time and again. It was only at the very end that I conceded they could not be saved."

His hard gaze faltering, he frowned again, his lips drawing into a hard, thin line as his eyes slowly drifted downward from her face towards the floor, the hand resting against the washbasin clenching into a tight, resentful fist. "It was not an easy decision," he added, quieter. "And I was… callous, to expect your decision to be any easier. I apologize, Commander. It was not my place. I was speaking as the soldier I wished I had been at that time, rather than the susceptible man I was."

Another quiet fell on the room, this one seeming much more forgiving than the last, the stillness allowing Shepard a moment to think on everything she had just heard. "I appreciate you telling me all this," she finally told him, breaking the silence, understanding. "It… certainly helps clear things up. And… I can appreciate where you're coming from. It's never easy to lose friends, even friends we knew we might lose when we signed up. Fellow soldiers." Scuffing the toe of her boot against the grated floor, she paused again, thoughtful, tucking her hands into the pockets of her cargos and worrying at her lower lip as she took a deep breath in. "I had a good friend… Kaidan Alenko," she told him, looking up at him again, speaking quieter now. "He gave his life so I and the rest of my ground team could have time to escape a planet on the verge of destruction. Kaidan was a hero… he sacrificed himself so the rest of us could live."

"Yes," Javik agreed, nodding along, still not making eye contact with her as he spoke. "I have seen his name on the commemorative wall on the crew deck… Lieutenant Alenko. I wondered what had happened to him, that his name should be displayed so prominently on the memorial."

"Ashley and I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for Kaidan," Shepard answered, offering a thin, assenting shrug. "I owe him my life, and… my baby's life as well, I guess. All things considered." Sucking on her lower lip, she faltered, frowning a bit, thoughtful, letting the conversation lapse once more into empty, uncomfortable silence. Then, suddenly seeming to remember something, she looked up again, taking a deep, sharp breath. "It's going to be a girl," she told him, an odd, strangled half-smile drawing at one corner of her lips as she pulled her hands eagerly from her pockets again. "Liara did an ultrasound for me… she says it's going to be a little girl."

At this, Javik looked up at her again, his yellow eyes narrowing, dubious. "Doctor T'Soni is qualified to practice prenatal medicine?" he asked, not even bothering to hide his scepticism.

Shepard hesitated, her arm halfway raised, before resting her hand instead against her ribcage, self-conscious. "No," she admitted. "But, we figured… _I_ figured… if I got Doctor Chakwas to do it, she would forward the information to Hackett, and I couldn't have that happening. Not yet. So we did it when she wasn't there."

"That is brash, Commander," Javik told her, shaking his head. "With that uncertainty in mind, can you even be positive your diagnosis is correct, that it is going to be a girl?"

"Diag—?" Shepard faltered, taken aback, the word stopping on her lips as she frowned, wary. "What do you mean, positive it's correct?" she asked, trying not to sound as disconcerted as she felt. "You mean you think Liara is wrong? I might be having a boy?" Dropping her arm to her side again, she rocked back dazedly onto her back foot, tapping her half-curled fist against her leg as she tried to quell the racing thoughts and clenching sensation in her gut at this thought. She had spent so much time calling her baby 'she' that she had all but convinced herself that that was the only possible outcome, and the sonogram reading had only served to strengthen that idea. However, Javik had admittedly been the first member of her crew to realize she had been pregnant, even before her more telling symptoms had started to appear, and so, in spite of herself, she could not help the sinking feeling that Javik might have more authority on the matter than she was willing to give him credit for.

"It is only a guess," Javik returned, matter-of-factly, turning his attention back to his reflecting pool and dipping his fingers gingerly under the surface, beginning to wet his hands, distractedly. "A feeling… if you will. Not that you are having a boy, necessarily – merely that something does not seem right about the idea of you having a girl."

"What's wrong with me having a girl?" Shepard insisted, defensive, before quickly rethinking and calming herself down instead, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, thoughtfully. "Does your feeling have something to do with my pheromones?"

At this, Javik snorted, his yellow eyes flicking over towards her, incredulous, before returning to his water-basin. "There is no particular chemical given off by expectant women that preemptively reveals the sex of an unborn child," he informed her, snippily. "Your chemical balance changes, and the pheromones you produce change, but it is in response to your body's initial biological imbalance, which is due to the pregnancy, itself. The sex of the baby has no effect on it." Finished rinsing off his hands, he lifted them from the basin, shaking them a few times, flicking the remaining water from them, before turning his attention back towards her again, stony and detached as ever. "I cannot _sense_ your baby's sex, Commander," he told her, frankly. "It is simply not something I can do. If your Doctor T'Soni says you will be having a girl, then that is likely what you will be having."

"Thanks," Shepard answered, letting out a heavy, agitated sigh. "I guess." Reaching up a hand, she tucked an awkward lock of hair behind her ear, not wanting to leave the conversation the way it was but not certain what else there was to add to it. This was the most civil discourse she had ever managed to have with Javik, but even it, like every other conversation she tried to have with the Prothean, was starting to go downhill, fast. "Did you ever have any children, Javik?" she suddenly asked, looking up at him again, leaning her hip against the edge of the furthest table in his setup. Javik's eyes flicked to the table, as if worried she might disturb something by leaning up against it, before turning his attention up towards her again, taking in a thin, detached breath.

"A few," he answered, candidly. "But they are all dead now."

This answer surprised Shepard, her brows shooting upward as she folded her arms attentively across her chest. "Boys or girls?" she pressed, intrigued.

Javik sighed, irritated, the fingers of one hand drumming impatiently against the line of his washbasin as he tried to think how best to explain his situation to her. "In Prothean society, there were no women," he finally told her, speaking frankly. "Our men were conquerors… soldiers. They took what they needed from those they defeated, including mates. We would breed with other species, but our DNA would override theirs, much like your modern asari, in order to create more Protheans." Raising a hand then, he waved it dismissively in her direction, his expression shifting into one of almost tired disdain. "We… did good work," he told her, just defensive enough to catch her interest. "Distributing our knowledge to those less uplifted. But we also took advantage. I see that now. I saw it then, only not nearly as clearly. I myself was only too happy to participate for a while, until I realized how we were taking advantage of those we bred with." Letting out another soft snort of breath, he frowned, crossing his plated arms across his broad chest as his gaze began to drift slowly downward from her face.

"Some species could not handle our DNA," he continued, his voice notably darker now. "Primitive salarians, quarians, raloi… they were too weak, and they often died in childbearing. We needed to find a species that could compatibly help us create more Protheans. And that was when we found Thessia, and the asari." He paused, his yellow eyes shifting thoughtfully between the slats in the floor grates, before he gave another, louder snort of breath. "Of course, this was before my time," he added. "Several million years before. I was not a part of the crew that found Thessia, but the practices remained the same. Find a species that could support our DNA, offer them enlightenment, reap the rewards of colonial growth."

"So in effect your people traded information for sex," Shepard observed, frowning, feeling an uncomfortable squirming sensation start to knot in her gut at the idea.

"Ultimately, yes," Javik returned, giving a thoughtful, halting nod. "At first we simply took whatever we wanted whenever we came across these civilizations, like barbarians. But it did not take long to discover that a large number of unwanted inseminations were prematurely terminated, sometimes resulting in the death of the parent as well." He paused, his frown deepening in thought, his lips drawing into a hard, thin line. "We realized that if we wished to breed with other species, we would have to do so judiciously, not like the savages the war had very nearly forced us to become," he explained. "Which was where the asari came in. Our DNA was stronger than that of the asari, but their bodies were hardy enough to carry our offspring. If you ask Doctor T'Soni about her peoples' history and religion, she will likely tell you stories of Janiri and Lucen, who were so-called 'guides' to the goddess Athame… the children borne of the goddess' guides with members of the asari society were all male children. Protheans. As such they were revered as uplifted ones, themselves. Chosen ones. Prophets born of mortal flesh."

"And what about the goddess, herself?" Shepard asked, intrigued by his explanation despite the sour feeling the conversation was giving her. "Back on Thessia you said Athame was a Prothean concept, but the asari seem to believe she was a real person. Was Athame just another front for Prothean integration into asari society?"

At this, Javik grunted, his head tilting sharply upward as he looked up at Shepard again, alert. "Yes," he agreed, openly. "The goddess Athame was an avatar of Prothean design. Even her name, Athame, was a fabrication by the Prothean arrival crew. The goddess herself, the asari of great power… she never actually existed." Slitting his eyes faintly in thought, he paused, giving a soft, baritone rumbling sound as his gaze drifting away from Shepard's face, resting instead against the wall behind her as he considered his explanation. "The name, Athame, was… an anagram," he continued, speaking slower this time. "Aahmet was the name of the captain, the one who decided to chart the course for Thessia in the first place. He thought it would be clever to name the goddess after himself. …I don't think he ever expected the introduction of the false asari idol to make the impact that it did."

"You mean Athame was created as a front just so your people could breed with the asari?" Shepard asked, making a face, disconcerted.

"Not entirely," Javik corrected, turning his attention back to her and lifting a finger to stop her. "We gave them knowledge – taught them things about science, history, medicine, the arts, and their own biotic abilities that they, themselves might not have discovered for thousands, perhaps millions of years on their own. And in return, they gave us soldiers. It was a fair trade." Crossing his arm over his chest again, he gave a dismissive shrug of one broad, plated shoulder, the corner of his lip lifting ever so slightly to display the edges of his sharp teeth. "It merely also happened that they were a religious people," he added, impassively. "And the idea of a goddess sending down messengers was easier for them to comprehend than a mortal post-spaceflight extraterrestrial species descending from somewhere across the galaxy to offer enlightenment. We did not mean any harm by it. We simply let the asari believe what they wanted to believe."

"But you also bred with them," Shepard pointed out, frowning, perturbed.

"Yes, we bred with them," Javik agreed, bluntly. "And once Aahmet's crew had produced enough Prothean children with the asari, they left again, taking the children with them. The legends of Athame call this the 'ascension back into the heavens' of the guides and prophets, with the promise that they would one day return." Uncrossing his arms from his chest then, he looked down at his washbasin again, dipping his fingers meditatively under the water, disrupting the burbling surface. "We did return to the planet later on, to protect Thessia from an attack by the oravores," he added, thoughtfully, continuing his narrative. "That is recorded in asari religious history as the time when the goddess Athame wielded her great sword to strike down the 'jealous gods' who sought to harm the asari. The imagery makes no sense, but the asari were only too happy to provide more 'prophets' for the descendant 'guides' once they had been saved…" Giving a soft, unimpressed snort, he flicked the water, causing a small splash, before pulling his hand from the basin and shaking the moisture off of it, turning his attention to Shepard once again.

"Primitive asari were much more gullible than your modern asari," Javik explained, curtly. "They were only too eager for something to believe in, and our enlightenment gave them just that. You cannot blame us for taking advantage of a situation, Commander. If you were desperate enough, could you honestly say you would not have done the same?"

"I can honestly say that I wouldn't," Shepard returned his query, frankly. "But… I did have one question. You said that your DNA, Prothean DNA, was stronger than asari DNA, but that was more than fifty thousand years ago. They've had plenty of time to evolve and hone their survivalism since then." Sucking in on her lips, she paused, contemplative, watching him as she tried to think of the most sensitive way to word her question. "So, if you and Liara were to have a child together… theoretically," she asked, speaking slowly, watching as his expression began to shift from stern candour to indignant frustration. "Do you think it would end up being asari, or Prothean?"

"It would end up being aborted," Javik answered, bluntly, not even missing a beat. "Do you have any other _actual_ questions, Commander?"

Shepard frowned, taken aback by his unexpectedly frank answer. "None that need answering right now," she finally said, shaking her head. "Just wanted to check in to see how you were doing, that's all."

"And do you see now?" Javik asked, agitated. "May I now return to what I was doing before my interruption?"

Shepard's brow furrowed deeper, irritated by his blunt, dismissive attitude, before she let out a short huff of breath instead, shaking her bangs out of her eyes, deciding it was not worth fighting over. "Sure," she told him, deadpan. "Sorry for disturbing you." Then, turning away from him again, she waded her way through the fog to the door, letting herself out and watching as the doors closed back over the seeping smoke again, causing the last escaping tendrils to drift upward, taper off, and disappear.


	30. WEEK SEVENTEEN, Pt.2

"Shepard, Admiral Hackett is available on vidcomm."

Shepard looked up in surprise at the sound of Traynor's voice over the intercom, her half-finished fruit rope still dangling unceremoniously from her mouth, her hand resting idly up under her shirt, relaxing thoughtfully against her stomach. With nothing more immediately pressing needing her attention aboard the Normandy, Shepard had taken to reviewing planetary history and spacecraft schematics in her cabin to pass the time while she waited for the ship's arrival at the Illusive Man's base. It was a bland activity, but ultimately a useful one, as it had given her some insight on which planets the Reapers might have overlooked in their path of destruction, as well as which of their allies' crafts would be best suited to which line of defence when the final attack against the Reapers was set to commence. It had been a few days at least since the last time Hackett had asked to talk to her, but it still seemed surprising that he would request another meeting so soon after their last one. And so, uncrossing her ankles from where they had been perched on top of her coffee table, she set her datapad down instead, picking up her jacket from where she had shed it onto the bench beside her and pulling it on over her freckled shoulders.

Thane's comment about her breasts being visible through her jacket still hung over her subconscious like a dark, foreboding cloud, and so, making sure her hoodie hung just right so as not to show anything too obvious, Shepard quickly made her way down from her cabin towards the main navigation deck of the Normandy. Passing hurriedly by the starmap, she headed in the direction of the war room, making her way to the vidcomm room and pressing the flashing incoming message button. Taking a step back from the console, she straightened her posture, standing at rapt attention as Hackett's holographic form solidified in the pit, his expression solemn as he turned his grizzled blue eyes up towards her, tucking his hands dutifully behind his back. "Shepard," he greeted her, shortly. "The intel you sent looks good. The fleets are ready to go…" He stopped then, faltering, before trailing off, his creased brow furrowing as his lips drew into a hard, thin line.

"…But?" Shepard asked, picking up on the note of hesitation in his voice.

"Well, once we're committed against Cerberus, it won't be long before the Reapers take notice," Hackett warned her, warily, letting out a short, hard huff of breath, almost as if hesitant to even admit to it.

"And the Crucible?" Shepard pressed, trying hard not to betray the sense of impending doom she felt at the thought that their next move could very well lead to their last.

Hackett hesitated again, thoughtful, turning his gaze away from her towards something outside the scope of the hologram that she could not see. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned his attention back towards her again, solemn. "Ready," he told her, frankly. "Except for the Catalyst. There's no way to hide the ships we'll be sending at Cerberus. Once we attack, the Crucible won't stay safe for long. For all intents and purposes an assault on Cerberus will be the first stage of our attack on Earth."

"What happens if Cerberus doesn't have the intel we need?" Shepard asked, tentative, distractedly pushing down the hem of her pants leg with her opposite boot in nervous habit. "Or they stop us from getting it?"

"Then we lead the fleets to Earth and we take our chances," Hackett answered, determinedly. "But your intel points to Cerberus and the Illusive Man holding the information we're looking for. And, we have the element of surprise. Cerberus won't know what hit them." A pause fell over the conversation, with Hackett continuing to watch her, as if waiting for some sort of reaction to this. Then, taking in a deep breath, he cleared his throat, gently, giving a quick glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to Shepard again, solemnly. "Listen, Shepard," he told her, speaking lower this time, just loud enough for her to hear him over the vidcomm connection. "I didn't want to bring this up, but… I know about your medical reports."

At this, Shepard instantly blanched, feeling her stomach sink like a rock, her intestines tying in knots as they threatened to push back up what little she had eaten that day. "My medical reports, Sir?" she asked, speaking evenly, trying hard not to let on how unsettled she was by such a simple statement.

"I know you haven't been sleeping, Shepard," Hackett told her, concernedly. "And I know you haven't been eating like you should. Chakwas says you haven't been letting her take checkups or weigh you. She suspects it's because you're malnourished and know you'll come in under standard. If you think this mission might be too taxing on you, especially with the projected outcome…" He faltered, frowning, his bushy brows pressing together, before letting out another gentler, tired sigh. "I just want you to know that there wouldn't be any shame in bowing out now," he told her, honestly. "You've done a damn good job so far, and nobody would blame you for needing to take a short breather before the shit really hits the fan."

Holding back a heavy sigh of relief, Shepard shook her head, pulling a hand from her pocket to clench into a fist as she took a resolute step forward towards the vidcomm pit. "I'll be fine, Sir," she assured him, determinedly. "The Reapers and Cerberus started this. Now we're gonna end it."

"I'll get the fleets mobilized," Hackett agreed, seeming relieved as he offered another short nod in return. "Hackett out."

* * *

Despite her short-lived panic at the thought that her ultrasound had somehow slipped out into Alliance-accessible dataspace, the conversation with Hackett had left Shepard feeling more determined than ever, and she had wasted no time in returning to her research immediately after their conversation. She had only been back in her quarters for about half an hour before she heard the door of her cabin slide open, and when she looked up, it was to see Garrus standing in the doorway of her room, looking in at her eagerly, dressed in a gold-trimmed blue tunic. It had been a long time since she had last seen him in casual garb – he generally wore his armour around the Normandy, ready to head out and fight at a moment's notice – so it was nice to see him looking a bit more relaxed for a change, as if it meant things might actually not go wrong for once, if only for a short while. Garrus' hands were folded in front of him as he entered, but he quickly dropped them down to his sides when he caught sight of her across the room, offering her a gentle, half-assure smile.

"Shepard," he commented, greeting her, casually. "Thought you might be up here." Making his way over to where she sat, he turned, settling himself down beside her, his hip pressing against hers as he folded his hands between his knees, leaning in towards her and nudging her arm with his shoulder. "You know what the best part is about a battle that decides the whole fate of the galaxy?" he asked, lightheartedly, his voice lower now, as if his question were a secret meant just for the two of them.

"Winning it?" Shepard guessed, looking up at him, smirking.

Garrus chuckled, turning his gaze down at the datapad in her hand, before taking a soft breath. "I was thinking it's a good excuse to remind the ones you care about that… well, you care about them," he told her, moving a hand over to rest tenderly against her wrist. Then, looking up at her again, he offered her a gentle grin, his plated brows raising faintly, hopeful. "Want some company?" he asked.

Shepard paused, considering a moment, wondering if this might not be a terrible idea. Then, deciding that it was not important, she set her datapad aside behind her on the bed, bringing her hand back around to take hold of his, entwining her four fingers between his two. "You read my mind," she told him, smiling up at him, fondly.

"Mm, guess I'm getting pretty good at this," Garrus joked back, leaning in towards her, his nose brushing against hers as their faces neared one another. "But… some more practice wouldn't hurt." Then, leaning in the rest of the way, he gently pressed his mouth to hers, the edges of his mandibles brushing her cheek as they kissed, her hand moving up to cup the side of his face, drawing him in closer, wanting his touch. He kissed her again, deeper this time, pulling the hand entwined with his gently forward towards him, before unclasping his hand from hers and resting it on her knee instead. Moving his hand slowly up her leg, he leaned in further towards her, coaxing her back onto the bed as his hand came to rest at her hip before sliding down into the warm middle of her legs, massaging her, causing her to give a soft gasp of pleasure at the craved feeling. Spurred on by her positive reaction, Garrus kissed her lips again, more enthusiastic this time, before reaching up and starting to unzip her hoodie, placing gentle kisses down her neck, against her collar-bone, and between her breasts as he began to pull the zipper slowly downward.

Shepard gave another soft sound of pleasure, her toes curling into her bedding as she revelled in the feeling of his mouth against her body. Then, suddenly realizing what was happening, she stopped short, pulled violently from the moment as she pushed Garrus off of her, sitting up in bed and reaching up to grab hold of her hoodie, holding it tightly shut. "Garrus," she breathed, startled, feeling the steady beat of her heart pounding in her ears at what she had almost allowed to happen. Garrus stared back at her, taken aback, his bright blue eyes wide as he held his hand suspended at his side as though it had been burned. His mandibles gave nervous, rhythmic tics against his chin as he tried to figure out what he had done wrong, and Shepard clenched her teeth, inwardly cursing herself for her telling knee-jerk reaction, before taking a deep, shaky breath and shaking her head, looking down at his hands, and then back to his face again. "Not… not now," she told him, stuttering over her words as she rushed to find some explanation. "Not right now. Can't we just…?" She trailed off, biting her lip, her gaze lowering to the floor of the room as her fingers wormed self-consciously into the material of her jacket. "Nevermind," she said, quietly, zipping her hoodie up to the top again. "Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you should just go."

"Shepard, I…" Garrus started to say, before stopping short, looking away from her, and frowning, concerned. His hands slid down to rest on his knees, curling into light, anxious fists as he took a thin breath in, his mandibles quivering fretfully against the sides of his chin as he tried to think of what to say to her. "I'm sorry," he finally told her, quietly. "It was… vulgar of me… Entitled, I guess, to just… assume…" He trailed off again, his plated brow furrowing even deeper into a self-conscious frown, before finally letting out a hard, embarrassed sigh and pushing himself off the bed again. "I'll just go," he told her, mumbling, just barely loud enough for her to hear him. "This was a bad idea on my part. I'll just leave you alone."

"Garrus, wait," Shepard said, reaching out a hand and quickly grabbing hold of his wrist, stopping him. Garrus turned, surprised, his mandibles standing at startled attention as he looked down at her again, watching as she gave a long, tired sigh before running a weary hand back through her hair. "I didn't mean for you to leave," she told him, speaking quieter now, worn out. "I didn't mean that. All I meant was… would it be okay if we were to just… cuddle, instead? With our clothes on? …Or, at least, my clothes on. I don't know how comfortable you are in your…" She faltered, considering, before letting go of his wrist to indicate loosely towards his attire. Then, dropping her hands to her lap again, she made a face, twisting her fingers into the well-worn edge of her hoodie as she stared up at him, hopefully. "If you aren't in the mood for cuddling, that's okay," she added, embarrassedly, the word feeling awkward and childish on her tongue.

Garrus paused, watching her, his expression soft but attentive. Then, sitting back down on the bed again, he slid his hand over the covers, smoothing where he had disturbed them earlier, before offering her a sincere, tender smile. "I am _always_ in the mood for cuddling," he informed her, matter-of-factly. Climbing up into bed with her, he settled himself in behind her, his body bumping playfully against hers as he nestled down into the pillows, attempting to get more comfortable. "Move over," he instructed her, teasingly, shifting his body until it rested right up against hers in the middle of the bed. Then, reaching over, he draped his arm across her, pulling her in close to him and nestling his head against her shoulder, his breath warm and reassuring against her ear. "You know… you're a good person, Shepard," he told her after a moment, his voice quiet, barely above a whisper in her ear. "You don't give yourself enough credit for that. Nobody else can do what you do, and do it with the same compassion. I wish you could see yourself the way your crew sees you."

"I don't know if I would really want to," Shepard admitted, speaking quietly back. Garrus said nothing in return, apparently surprised by this response, and Shepard gave a soft, sad sigh, before gently closing her eyes, nestling back into his warmth, and allowing herself to drift off into a fitful, restless sleep.

* * *

" _Braid my hair."_

_It was more of a command than a request, and Shepard turned quickly at the sound, surprised, looking around for the source of the voice. The room she found herself in was pristine, almost unnervingly empty save for a single couch in the middle of the floor, with walls painted a calming, milky mint-green. She frowned, unable to locate the voice, until she looked down and was surprised to find herself staring at a little girl, no more than five, standing patiently in front of her, staring expectantly up at her, as if she had been standing there for a while. Her hands were folded eagerly behind her back, her feet pressed together at attention as she waited for Shepard to acknowledge her request. She was a beautiful little girl, with rosy cheeks and sleek black hair, and while she appeared almost startlingly human at first glance, a closer look revealed that she had the brightest blue eyes Shepard had ever seen, almost the same exact colour as Garrus'._

" _You want me to braid your hair?" Shepard asked, still a bit dazed, making sure she had heard the girl correctly._

_The girl nodded in response, her smile widening, before she pointed to the couch in the middle of the room. "We can sit down if you like," she told Shepard. "If that would make it easier for you."_

_Shepard nodded, still a bit stunned, and watched as the girl moved past her towards the couch, pulling herself easily up onto it before looking back at Shepard, expectantly. Moving over to the couch as well, Shepard sat down tentatively behind the girl, hesitating one uncertain moment before gingerly starting to pull her hair out of her two pristine ponytails. Setting the rubber bands aside, she began to carefully comb her fingers through the little girl's tresses, barely able to keep her hands from shaking as she started the process of braiding her hair, her hands awkward in the unfamiliar motions. The girl seemed completely unaffected by her inexperience, instead humming quietly as Shepard worked, her dainty hands folded dutifully in her lap as she waited for the braiding to be finished. Glancing up towards the little girl again, Shepard could barely keep a small, crooked, almost guilty smile from spreading across her face at how beautifully healthy her daughter had turned out to be, despite all the worrying she had put herself through on the matter._

" _Your hair is lovely," she told the girl, quietly, looking for an excuse to speak with her again._

" _Thank you," the little girl returned, politely. "I try to take good care of it. Proper hair care is important, they tell me. Otherwise who knows what will happen."_

_Shepard nodded in dazed agreement, her braiding growing more confident as she repeated the practiced motion, crossing one swath of hair over another. Having finished with the first slightly lopsided braid, she reached down, picking up one of the rubber bands, and tied the braid off before moving on to the second segmented clump of silky black hair. "How many… toes do you have?" she asked the little girl, tentatively, not wanting to set her on edge with odd questions. The girl, however, seemed completely unfazed by the strangeness of the inquiry, instead happily swinging her feet over the edge of the couch, her heels bouncing thoughtfully against the upholstery as Shepard continued to braid._

" _Ten fingers, ten toes," the little girl answered, dutifully, holding up her hands and spreading her fingers so Shepard could more easily see._

" _That's… wonderful," Shepard told her, beaming, trying hard not to be too obvious in her joy. "And have you been… are you… well?"_

" _As well as I'll ever be," the girl returned, evenly, folding her hands in her lap once more. "I haven't had a cold in ages. Got one when I was very little, but that was it. They say I won't ever get another no matter how long I live, because I'm immune to it now." Wiping her nose absentmindedly with the back of her hand, she crossed her legs at the ankles, daintily, staring down at her ballet flat-clad feet. "They tell me it's because of my genetic makeup," the little girl continued, her chubby fingers curling thoughtfully around the edge of her puffy skirt. "I'm immune to most medical issues, in fact. I don't exactly understand their reasoning, but never having to worry about getting sick sounds good to me, whatever the reason."_

" _Absolutely," Shepard agreed, feeling a warm glow start to rise to her face, barely daring to believe what she was hearing. She had never considered before that her child might in fact retain the better parts of both parents' genetic makeup, making her virtually indestructible, immune to the ailments of both amino-based species by sake of the genes from the opposing gene pool. She tugged on the plait she was working on, tightening it gently, before continuing to braid, careful not to pull too hard on the little girl's skull. "I love you," she told the girl, quietly, unable to keep the infectious, euphoric smile from spreading across her face as she continued her dutiful braiding._

_At this, the girl hesitated, pausing momentarily in her humming, seeming a bit surprised. "Thank you," she finally answered, courteously, before returning to her distracted humming once more, unaffected._

_Shepard faltered at the unexpected response, her braiding slowing as she looked up at the girl, confused. "What, I don't get one back?" she asked, half-joking. "Not even one little 'I love you' from my own daughter?"_

" _Your daughter?" the little girl asked, turning to glance back towards her again, her pretty brow furrowing in a faint, confused frown. "What are you talking about, Commander? I'm not your daughter."_

_At this, Shepard stopped her braiding completely, feeling her stomach twist at the words. "You're not?" she asked, worriedly, trying hard not to betray the stroke of panic she could feel building up in her subconscious._

" _No, silly," the girl returned, shaking her head as she turned to look back at Shepard fully again. "I'm Matilda Lawson. Remember? I'm Miranda's little sister."_

" _Miranda's sister," Shepard repeated, distantly, still a bit dumbstruck. Her hands had gone numb, the half-finished ebony braid forgotten in her grasp as she stared at the little girl, feeling her apprehension steadily beginning to rise, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Suddenly it all made sense, the blue eyes, black hair, perfectly formed little fingers and toes –_ human _fingers and toes._

" _Yes, that's right," Matilda confirmed, reaching across Shepard to pick up the discarded rubber band and starting to tie up her hair again. "You set up a playdate with my sister, remember? I've come over to play with your boy."_

" _My boy," Shepard repeated again, a bit louder this time, looking up towards the door at the far end of the room, feeling the knot in her stomach tie itself even tighter at the words. "I have a son?"_

_Matilda laughed in response, her laugh silvery and fine, seeming amused by the odd question. "Of course you do, Commander," she told her, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Don't you remember your own son? He's just gone to get something right quick, he should be back any moment now."_

_No sooner had the words left her mouth when a massive_ BANG _noise suddenly caught Shepard's attention, causing her to look up towards the door again, startled, terrified, unready for whatever it was that was trying to come through. Looking desperately around the room, she searched for some sort of weapon, anything she could use to defend herself and the little girl from whatever was attempting to come in and get them, but she found the room to be utterly empty of anything save for the couch where the two of them were sitting. Another_ BANG _noise caused her to look towards the door again, watching in horror as the wall surrounding the door began to crack under the pressure, the plasterwork erupting in a boulder-shaped highway of crumbling, jagged edges, the shrieking of metal reaching her ears as the cheap, factory-made foundation of the house began to crumple under the enormous weight being pushed against it. Finally, with a sound that rocked the small room, the outline around the doorframe gave way, the shape falling to the ground with a loud, metallic clatter as Shepard grabbed up Matilda, taking a few frightened steps back, protecting the girl from the oncoming destruction._

_She could feel her heart seize and sink like a stone down to her pelvis as she stared at the new arrival, her stomach threatening to empty itself as her brain went suddenly blank with white-hot white noise._

_The Brute from the Leviathan's dreamscape loomed in the ruined doorway, staring in at them with hellish, glowing blue eyes, its skeletal mask crooked on a vertebral neck barely held together with twisted wire. The creature looked haggard and threadbare, covered in rancid black and grey fluid, but also unnervingly enormous, as if it had somehow managed to put itself back together even larger than before after being so thoroughly torn apart. The gaping hole in its chest gurgled with black liquid, every so often spurting out a dribble of thick, murky bile, which ran down its chest before congealing and drying, caking its chest in a gruesome black gunk. An extra connection had been added to its enormous mechanical arm, linking it back to its massive shoulder, making it overlong and awkward and causing the Brute to drag it along on the floor behind it as it walked. Its normal-sized arm hung limply at its side, barely held on with bandages so congealed with black and grey fluid that it was difficult to tell where the bandage ended and the arm began. A number of its metallic intestines had been coaxed back together with sealant gunk and medical tape, but they did not seem to be staying, and a few of them had already broken loose of the makeshift reparation, the medical tape hanging in dirty, slimy ribbons at the edges of the loose metal organs._

" _There he is," Matilda observed, cheerfully, pointing towards the grotesque creature in the doorway. "There's your son."_

" _No," Shepard breathed, panicked, taking another step backwards as she clutched Matilda closer to her chest, petrified. "No, that's not… that's not my son…_ that's not my son… _"_

_Taking a step into the room, the Brute straightened to its full height, its enormous spines nearly reaching the ceiling as it towered over the two of them, staring down at them, rancid grey fluid dripping from its crippled smaller arm as it walked, leaving a grisly trail in its wake. "AREN'T YOU GLAD YOU DECIDED TO KEEP ME, MOTHER?" the Brute insisted, its voice deep and gurgling, as if forcing the words past a throat thick with blood. "HASN'T YOUR HUMANITY PAID OFF?" Taking another fearful step back in response, Shepard found herself suddenly stopped short, backed up against a wall she could have sworn had not been there only seconds earlier. Letting out a deep, guttural rumble, the Brute took another step closer, cornering her, its putrid smell so overwhelming as it leaned in towards her that she could feel it burning the inside of her nose._

" _WHAT'S WRONG, MOTHER?" the Brute hissed, the vertebrae of its neck rattling ominously, its skeletal mask sparking as it snaked its head towards her. "DON'T YOU WANT TO_ PLAY?! _"_

* * *

Shepard woke with a start, drenched in cold sweat, sitting up in bed and clutching her stomach as a searing wave of nausea hit her like a white-hot knife. Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, she wet her dry lips, swallowing back the sickening sensation, before moving her hands to her shoulders instead and starting to fretfully rub at her thin upper arms. The gentle touch of a hand on her back caused her to turn around in bed with a sharp start to find Garrus propped up on one elbow, staring over at her with obvious worry, his mandibles fidgeting anxiously against his chin as he searched her face for some explanation. Reaching out the same hesitant hand again, he tenderly brushed her messy hair away from her eyes, careful not to touch her too much for fear of setting her off again. "Bad dream?" he asked, his hand coming to rest gently against her shoulder, coaxing her to lie back down again. Shepard did not take much convincing, instead quickly lying down and shifting her body around until she faced him, tucking her elbows in towards her as she curled up close to his chest, seeking the comfort of his warmth. Nestling her head up under his chin, she made herself as small as possible against his larger form as he pulled her in close towards him, draping one of his legs over hers, protective.

"You ever get them?" Shepard asked, weakly, still feeling her heart pumping wildly in her chest, her frayed nerves making it hard to force out words past her tightened throat.

"Hm," Garrus grunted, thoughtfully, pulling her in closer as he nestled his chin down further into her soft hair. "Mmm… I tend to expect the worst anyway, so dreaming about it is just a waste of good sleep."

"What about now?" Shepard asked, quietly, unable to even crack a smile at his genial repartee.

Garrus hesitated, realizing that she was in no mood for joking, and let out a soft, weary sigh, closing his arms more tightly around her underfed frame. "I'm expecting a tough fight," he answered, honestly. Then, after another moment, he added, concernedly, "What's bothering you?"

Shepard frowned, shifting against his warm form and letting out a soft sigh as she tried to think of how to word her apprehension. "Can we ever be ready for a battle like this?" she finally asked, barely daring to speak her worries above an anxious whisper. "Everything we've ever known… it's all hanging by a thread, Garrus."

Garrus nodded, turning his head downward until his nose and mouth were buried in her hair, before letting out a short, soft snort of breath, disturbing her bangs, causing them to feather gently into her eyes. "Yeah, but the truth is, when hasn't it?" he asked, honestly, his voice slightly muffled by her hair, his breath warm and soothing against her forehead. "Every fight we've ever seen could have been our last. Every bullet we've ever dodged could have been The One."

"There _have_ been a lot of bullets," Shepard agreed, giving a soft, weak breath of a humourless laugh.

"And this time around they're just a little bigger," Garrus joked back, reassuringly.

Shepard laughed again, more sincerely this time, her breath shaking with a rush of panicked emotion as she fought back the quickly passing urge to cry at his unflappable, tender optimism. She blamed her emotional flux on her hormones, sniffing quickly and burying her face in his tunic to hide the fact that she had almost burst into tears over a ridiculous, barely funny joke. "I don't know what I'd do without you," she told him, honestly, hooking her leg around the one he had draped across her calf.

"Fall apart, probably," Garrus returned, teasingly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

* * *

Garrus had still been asleep by the time Shepard left her cabin to make her way back down to the war room. She had considered staying until he woke up, not wanting to leave the reassuring warmth of his embrace, but nagging worry kept needling at the back of her mind, making it impossible for her to get comfortable again once she had already woken up. And so, slipping quietly out of bed, she had picked up her boots from beside her nightstand, padding out of her cabin and heading to the elevator, where she had set her destination for the main navigation deck, taking the time to pull on her boots while she waited for the elevator to reach her floor. The navigation deck was oddly quiet when she arrived, the only sound the occasional murmur about technical specs, as if everyone were afraid that saying anything about their upcoming mission might somehow jinx it. Skirting around the galaxy map, she passed by Traynor's work station, before making her way past the security checkpoint and into the waiting war room.

The war room was eerily quiet as well, save for the soft beeping of the war console, which still showed the slowly-spinning, now nearly-finished holographic image of the Crucible, but as she approached, the war map suddenly dinged three times, sharply, the Crucible flickering out momentarily to be replaced by the image of four blue war ships approaching a red object that looked like a long-ended space station. "The strike team is in," Hackett's voice reported over the console speakers. "We've got our foothold. Fifth Fleet, all forward. I don't want a single Cerberus ship in my sky when we're through."

"Shepard," Miranda spoke up from behind her, causing Shepard to turn, watching as she descended the steps into the sunken basin of the war room. Coming to stand beside Shepard at the war console, Miranda turned to face her, regarding her with a solemn expression. "I should go with you when you head down," she told her, candidly. "This is the central point of operations for Cerberus, so they'll likely have enhanced security measures." Turning her attention up towards the hologram display then, Miranda propped her hands on her hips, thoughtful. "They may very well have changed most of it since the last time I was there," she added, pensively. "But it still shouldn't be anything I can't work out. I figure with my knowledge of Cerberus algorithms and other insider information, having me along will offer you the best chance of succeeding against the Illusive Man."

Shepard paused, considering her argument, crossing her arms over her chest as she turned her attention back towards the console as well, watching the ships slowly inching forward towards the elongated space station. "Are you sure you're ready to face the Illusive Man again?" she asked, honestly, her brows drawing faintly downward. "If I remember correctly he tried to have you killed for trying to cut ties with Cerberus. You sure you want to risk treading on his turf again?"

"It's as much my turf as his," Miranda retorted, crossing her arms stubbornly across her chest, mimicking Shepard's action. "He would never have even found that location if it wasn't for my help." Then, dropping her defensive attitude, she gave a soft sigh, turning her gaze back towards the red and blue hologram projection and watching it, pensive and silent for a moment. "Honestly, you'd be doing me a huge favour by letting me come along," she finally told Shepard, speaking quieter now, more sincerely. "I know the risks, but even so, I'd love to put a bullet right between that smug bastard's horrendous eyes for what he tried to do to me."

Shepard nodded, understanding, tucking her hands under her arms as she watched the holographic ships move ever closer to one another, before letting out a soft, tired exhale and turning her attention towards Miranda once more. "Grab your gear," she told her, affirmably. "Meet me and Thane in the hangar bay. Let's do this." Then, clapping Miranda reassuringly on the shoulder, she turned away from the war console, heading instead up towards the main deck of the Normandy to start getting ready for the mission, herself.

* * *

The sky around Cronos Station was already littered with Alliance ships by the time the Kodiak left the Normandy's hangar, making its way towards the Cerberus base. The doors of the Cerberus station's hangar had been left wide open, allowing for Cerberus ships to exit into the fray, and as soon as Shepard caught sight of this, she tapped Cortez on the shoulder, pointing him towards it, before holding on tightly to one of the overhead handlebars as he turned sharply, heading in the direction of the opening. It clearly did not take long for the enemy to realize their mistake, as they were still a short ways away from the hanger when the massive doors began to slowly move inward, and Cortez swore under his breath at the sight, gripping the edges of the manual piloting wheel so hard his knuckles began to turn white. "Hold on tight!" he warned his passengers, before giving the wheel a sharp jerk, rolling the shuttle onto its side just in time to slip through the closing doors, but not quite fast enough to keep the doors from clipping one of the engines.

The Kodiak screamed as it spun through the air, slamming its passengers against the side of the carriage as they scrambled to find something solid to hang onto. Scraps of metal flew from the shuttle's ruined thruster as it careened towards the hangar floor, until it finally skidded to a fiery halt with an angry, metallic shriek, knocking over a large stack of shipping crates and spilling the cargo all over the deck. The Kodiak whined as it began to power down, the piloting computer taking stock of its own damaged components, and Cortez coughed, rattled, slamming a fist down on the door release, causing the side door of the shuttle to begin to slide open, only to stop halfway, fizzling, refusing to budge any further. Miranda slipped out easily between the shuttle and the door, followed quickly by Thane, who paused as he readied his gun, turning back towards the shuttle to make sure Shepard made it out all right as well. Climbing towards the front of the Kodiak, Shepard gripped the headrest of the pilot's seat, leaning her head forward between the two seats to make sure Cortez had not been wounded in the unceremonious landing.

"You okay, Cortez?" Shepard asked, watching as he typed frantically into the keypad console, overriding the emergency autopilot and attempting to shut off the alarm that kept trying to warn him that one of the engines had gone offline.

"I'm fine," Cortez confirmed, coughing as he waved a hand towards her, shooing her back towards the battlefield. "Just have a few repairs to make. You go give Cerberus hell!"

"I'll keep them off your back," Shepard assured him, before ducking back out from between the seats and sliding out of the Kodiak, gun at the ready. Joining Thane behind one of the toppled shipping crates, she leaned around the side of their cover, firing into the group of oncoming Cerberus troopers, watching as one of her bullets struck a trooper through the neck, killing him instantly. The other troopers hardly even seemed to notice their fallen comrade, some going so far as to step over the corpse, while others simply ran directly over it in their haste to take out the intruders in their hangar. Between Thane's expert marksmanship and Miranda's biotics, it did not take long for the team to deal the rest of the attacking troopers, and once the smoke from the last grenade had cleared, Shepard quickly pulled herself to her feet, letting out a sharp, heavy huff of breath as she willed her heart to stop pounding in her ears. "There's bound to be more coming," she said, popping the spent heat sink from her gun before fishing a fresh sink from her pouch and clicking it into place instead. "This is only the first wave. I've dealt with Cerberus enough to know they never send just one."

"Security breach in Hangar Sixteen," a calm, electronic female voice suddenly reported over the intercom, causing Shepard to look up at the sound, wary. "Initiating Achilles Protocol."

"They're going to try to gas this place," Miranda hissed, scanning the upper floor of the hangar, as if expecting some kind of telltale indicator of Cerberus' next move. "We need to get out of here before they do or we're all dead."

"If you can override the command, we can simply use the same ventilation system they would have utilized to gas the hangar to escape from it," Thane suggested, calmly, blinking a few times as he looked over at her. "If we're careful, they might even lose track of us in the pipework. That would give us back the element of surprise."

"Right," Miranda agreed, frowning as she turned over her shoulder, looking around for some sign of tech. "Help me find an active console. If I can remember their override algorithms, I can probably stop the protocol."

"That's not exactly reassuring," Shepard apprised her, but Miranda ignored her, making her way towards a nearby ladder and starting to climb it to the upper level. Shepard was quick to follow behind her, tucking her gun into her maglock and making her way up the ladder as well, gritting her teeth and holding her breath as she painfully counted the steps left to the top. Thane brought up the end of the procession, watching Shepard warily to make sure she did not need assistance, and when they reached the top of the ladder, he was quick to offer his shoulder for her to lean on as they followed Miranda to what looked to be an overhanging workstation, panelled in with bulletproof glass and equipped on both sides with lines of active computer consoles. Letting go of Thane's shoulder, Shepard leaned against the wall of the workroom instead, doing her best to catch her breath as she watched Miranda's fingers fly across the keypad of one of the consoles, overriding the emergency protocol.

"This should do the trick," Miranda said, glancing up fleetingly towards the hangar before returning her attention to her work. Then, after a moment, the console gave a sharp beep, and Miranda stepped back, a look of satisfied determination on her face, still holding her hands up, poised to type, as if afraid to drop them just yet. "Hangar protocol overridden," she confirmed, letting her hands drop back to her sides. "Now let's find that bloody vent shaft and get the hell out of this godforsaken place."

"I spotted the entrance to it while we were on the ground," Thane commented, stepping forward and pointing towards the opposite door of the workstation, helpfully. "It's just past this control station. There should be some ammo crates nearby we can stack so Shepard can climb up as well."

"Great," Shepard confirmed before Miranda could say anything about her need for a stepping-crate. "Let's get moving before Cerberus realizes we've overridden their protocol and sends more troopers in after us."

"They're probably already on their way," Miranda warned her, glancing over her shoulder, as if expecting a party of troopers to burst through the door at any minute. "The quicker we get out of here, the better."

"Follow me," Thane instructed, beckoning them as he moved towards the opposite door of the workstation. The women were quick to follow behind, making their way to a large, square venting plate built into the wall of the hangar, stationed several feet above the catwalk floor. Pushing a large crate of ammunition up under the grate, Thane climbed on top of it, pulling a small tool from his belt and starting to deftly unscrew the venting plate. Miranda waited nervously, tapping her foot against the grated floor as she glanced over her shoulder again, listening for the sound of approaching troopers, but, just as the first shouting voice reached her ears, Thane gave a satisfied exclamation of success, lifting the vent plate just high enough for the women to crawl through. Miranda quickly climbed up onto the ammo crate, slipping easily inside the vent, and Shepard followed along behind her, twisting sideways as her ammo pouches caught the edge of the shaft, wedging her momentarily in place until she unclipped the belt from around her waist, sliding awkwardly the rest of the way through. Thane was the last to join them in the vent, sliding quickly inside and closing it quietly behind him just as the shouts of angry troopers echoed across the catwalk, their heavy boots rattling the grated flooring as they jogged obliviously past the vent, looking for the intruders but finding nothing but ammunition crates.

Sliding silently along the wall of the vent past the two women, Thane beckoned wordlessly for them to follow behind him, before starting to crawl along the shaft, every so often checking behind them to make sure they were not being followed. The vent was uncomfortably hot and stifling, and Shepard could feel herself sweating through her armour, the dull feeling of nausea making her a bit dizzy as she followed Thane through the twists and turns. The crawl through the ventilation shaft seemed nearly endless, and at times she could not help but wonder if Thane really knew what he was doing, but finally, after what felt like an eternity, they came to another venting plate, which Thane was quick to open with the same deft tool, allowing them to slip out into a darkened room she assumed was much deeper in the heart of the facility. The room they found themselves in was unnervingly quiet compared to the shouting and gunfire of the hangar, and Shepard could not help but feel on edge as they made their way towards the orange-locked door at the far end. Miranda frowned as she approached the door, pulling up the override control, considering the coding for a moment before starting to type something into the keypad.

"Think you can get past it?" Shepard asked, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other as she glanced over her shoulder, as if expecting a Cerberus trooper to spring from the shadows at any moment.

Miranda huffed, stopping in her typing momentarily as the lock gave off a sharp beep, thwarting her attempts at an override. "Cerberus has updated their encryption since I was here last," she answered, tapping her fingers pensively against her collar-bone as she stared at the lines of coding, sounding more determined than frustrated. "It might take me a minute."

Shepard nodded, understanding, still unable to help feeling anxious at the lack of resistance they were encountering at this checkpoint. Thane had mentioned that they might be able to take Cerberus by surprise by utilizing the ventilation system, but it still made her somewhat nervous not to know exactly where her enemy was at all times. "What should we expect up ahead?" she asked, trying to keep her mind off the uneasy feeling building in her gut.

Miranda paused, thoughtful, considering this question, before returning her attention to the lock once more. "They'll probably seal off as much as they can," she answered, simply. "They might even try to block off all obvious paths to the central lab, if they're smart. Other areas will probably be heavily fortified, and they'll do everything in their power to delay us as much as possible." Swiping her hand across the code console then, she cleared off her previous override attempt, before starting over again, just as determined. "Anything else will likely just be standard safeguard tactics," she added, intent on her work. "I can easily override those. Cerberus might be able to slow us down, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let them stop us." Taking a step back away from the door, Miranda watched as the orange holo-lock beeped twice, spinning thoughtfully, before finally turning bright green and sliding open to allow them inside.

"We should probably head through a sublevel to avoid getting tripped up by any more of Cerberus' containment measures," Miranda added, turning to face her companions as she stepped through the doorway into the hallway beyond, pointing to a dark square at the far corner of the floor. "Though the Prothean VI you're looking for will most likely be in the central lab. It's the most secure area in the entire facility. It's not going to be easy getting down there."

"Great," Shepard commented, deadpan, turning to look at the small, square pit sunk into the end of the hallway floor. Two conspicuous metal handles poked out over the top of the hole, making it obvious what waited beneath, and Shepard sighed heavily, already feeling her legs begin to burn in anticipation. "Ladders."


	31. WEEK SEVENTEEN, Pt.3

Just as Miranda had predicted, only a few scattered squads of Cerberus troopers had barred their way through the sublevel of the facility, making for a fairly easier pathway to cut through to the more imperative parts of Cronos Station. Having finished off the last of the attacking troopers, Miranda was quick to scale the ladder leading back up to the main parts of the facility, with Thane following closely behind her and Shepard taking up the rear, needing only a short hand up from Thane when she reached the top. Making her way to the orange-locked door at the far end of the room they now found themselves in, Miranda pulled up the override control, starting to type a command into the console, but Shepard found herself distracted by a computer console sitting in a far corner of the room, and turned to inspect it instead, curiously. Its screen was set to standby mode, showing some sort of blue productivity graph, the progress beacon bouncing slowly up and down as the hills of data rose and fell gently across the grid. Tapping a key on the projected keypad, Shepard woke the console up, her brow furrowing faintly in interest as it gave a soft beep before pulling up a locked list of datalogs in a textbox along the right-hand side of the screen.

"That console hasn't been scrubbed," Miranda warned, pausing in her override to glance over her shoulder towards where Shepard was standing. "There may still be sensitive information on there."

"What kind of sensitive information?" Shepard asked, tapping a button on the keypad and pulling up the first file in the list of discreetly numeralled dossiers.

"Having to do with Project Lazarus, if I'm not mistaken," Miranda answered, moving to stand behind her, her free hand clenching and unclenching anxiously at her side as she watched Shepard override the access into the datafile. "Regarding your Cerberus reconstruction."

Her interest now piqued, Shepard finished her override command, taking a step back from the console and watching as the datalog considered her access request. Then, after a moment, the first file in the list of logs expanded onto the screen, showing a grainy security vid of what looked to be a scientist speaking with a projection of the Illusive Man. The setting was unidentifiable, the camera angle showing only the cabinet-lined corner of what appeared to be a sheer white room, but the voices came through sharp and clear despite the mediocre quality of the vid. "It can't be done," the scientist insisted. "It's not a matter of resources—"

"It's _always_ a matter of resources," the Illusive Man argued, cutting him off. "We're _not_ losing Shepard."

The scientist sighed, exasperated, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, as if simply talking to the Illusive Man made him too nervous to even stand still. "Sir, Shepard is clinically braindead," he asserted, starting to wring his hands, anxiously. "After that much trauma, that long with no oxygen… we _cannot_ overcome nature."

"Operative Lawson disagrees," the Illusive Man countered, flicking ashes from the end of his cigarette, and Shepard turned to glance over towards Miranda, who was standing oddly pigeontoed, her clenched fist pressed into the side of her leg, her mouth drawn into a tight, twisted line. "She is now in charge of Project Lazarus." Then, with these fateful words, the vidfile ended, collapsing back into the list of dossier files lining the side of the console screen. Turning her attention to the computer again, Shepard frowned, staring at the list of datafiles, before shaking her head and letting out a deep huff of breath, taken aback by the implication.

"I didn't realize it was that bad," she admitted, her voice betraying a bit of hoarseness despite her best attempts to hold her composure.

"It seems very stark," Thane agreed, offering a solemn nod. "Are you all right, Shepard?"

Shepard hesitated at his question, wondering how to possibly answer, before taking a determined step back from the console, wanting to walk away from the files but not quite having the strength to do so. "I'm still me," she insisted, firmly, though she could not help feeling unsure who she was more trying to convince of this fact. "I doubt I'd have been able to turn against Cerberus otherwise. I don't remember anything… maybe they really just fixed me. Or… maybe…" She trailed off, coming to an uncomfortable standstill, her hands hanging awkwardly at her sides as her gaze drifted down to the floor, uncertain whether her self-congratulatory reasoning was doing more harm or good. "Maybe I'm just a high-tech VI that thinks it's Commander Shepard," she added, barely loud enough for her crewmates to hear her. "But, I dunno… I…"

"You're real," Miranda assured her, determinedly. "A bit off rails, perhaps, at times… but ultimately, real."

Shepard faltered at her reassurance, wanting to believe what she was saying but finding it hard to convince herself to listen. Then, moving back over to the computer again, she pressed the downward arrow on the keypad, selecting the next file in the list and watching as it expanded to take up the entirety of the screen. The setting in this vid was exactly the same as in the last, and for a moment Shepard wondered if she might have accidentally selected the same video twice, until the scientist began to speak, assuring her that some time had passed between the last security vid and this one. "Tissue regeneration is proceeding," the scientist reported, optimistically. "The helmet kept the brain intact, for… whatever good that will do."

"Lawson will find a way," the Illusive Man assured him, tucking his free hand behind his back and offering a promising nod.

"Sir… Shepard is an Alliance soldier," the scientist pointed out, sounding a bit less confident than before. "As far as she knows, we're a terrorist organization."

"I'm not looking for a dance partner," the Illusive Man snapped, pointing his cigarette threateningly at the scientist's face. "We need Shepard, and Shepard needs resources. She'll work with us." And with that, the vidfile ended as abruptly as the last, collapsing back into the list of logs, leaving Shepard feeling confused and unfulfilled.

"He had you boxed in, Shepard," Thane observed, frankly, causing her to glance back towards him, still a bit numb. "There was nothing you could do."

"Every instinct I had told me not to trust Cerberus," Shepard returned, her voice barely above a resentful hiss. "But I needed their help, so I played along."

"You did what you had to, Shepard," Miranda assured her, causing Shepard to look her way, grateful for the vote of confidence. "I was there with you. I saw what you did. Everything you did, you did it for the good of your crew, and the good of the galaxy. Cerberus had nothing to do with it."

Shepard opened her mouth, preparing to say something in return, before quickly closing it again, unable to think of anything to add to the conversation. Turning back to the console again, she selected the last log in the list of files, taking a wary step back as the security vid expanded to take up the entirety of the screen. The scene in this vid was almost the same as in the last two files, with only one significant difference – instead of one scientist talking to the Illusive Man, there were now two. The second scientist in the vid appeared to be female, full-figured, with short, strawberry-blonde hair Shepard strongly suspected was a wig, wearing a pair of pristine white coveralls branded with the Cerberus logo. She had apparently just come back from the laboratory, as she still wore her protective medical gloves, barely visible through the grainy quality of the video footage. "Project Lazarus _is_ reporting neurological activity," the first scientist informed the Illusive Man, sounding genuinely surprised by this information. "But only barely. Either way, they're requesting more funding. They say they likely can't go forward any further with the rebuild unless they get the go-ahead to employ… precarious methods."

"Granted," the Illusive Man answered, immediately. "Give them everything they ask for. No expense is too great. I want Commander Shepard back exactly the way she was before, even if that means using Reapertech to do it."

"But sir," the second scientist spoke up then, taking a worried step forward. "You remember what happened with Paul Grayson when we tried to use Reaper technology—"

"Grayson was a mistake," the Illusive Man cut her off, sharply, flicking ashes from the end of his cigarette. "A failed experiment brought on by negligence and naivety. We attempted to genetically alter a preexisting lifeform, and the body resisted." Taking a drag of his cigarette, he held the smoke, wetting his lips, before finally letting the smoke out again in a long, bored sigh. "His physical enhancements were extremely impressive, while they lasted," he added, matter-of-factly. "If we could do the same for Shepard, imagine how much good it could do us. Not to mention what it could do for her."

"Maybe," the second scientist told him, taking another step forward, sounding exasperated. "If we could avoid having _entire neurological pathways_ rewritten in the process. Grayson's brain was a mess, sir. He was completely under Reaper control by the end. Do you really want that to happen to Shepard?"

"Grayson's failure was due to a lack of resolve," the Illusive Man stated, offering her an offhanded sniff as he tapped his thumb distractedly against the butt of his cigarette. "He wasn't loyal to anything but his next dose of red sand. He had no will to adapt." Taking another drag of his cigarette, he turned his gaze towards the floor instead, inspecting his polished shoes, as if they had suddenly become much more interesting than her concerns. "Shepard is different," he told her, unconcerned, exhaling smoke in a thin, indifferent stream. "We're building her from the ground up. That's the beauty of it. Her body will never even know that it didn't include Reapertech to begin with." Turning his attention back to the first scientist, the Illusive Man pulled his hand in towards his chest, his cigarette bouncing thoughtfully between his fingers as he considered what instructions to give. "Get me our potential recruits file," he told the man, musingly. "Shepard will be up before too long. We still need a crew."

"Our existing forces should be more than sufficient—" the second scientist started to contest, but the Illusive Man quickly cut her off again, holding up a hand, causing her to stop short.

"No," he told her, turning his cybernetic gaze towards her, decisively. "We need sympathetic faces. I need Shepard invested." Then, turning his attention back to the first scientist again, he indicated towards him with his cigarette. "Tap Kelly Chambers, and recruit Donnolley," he instructed, watching as the man nodded along, obedient. "I imagine Miss Daniels will follow. We want some old friends as well. Contact Doctor Chakwas and send me the psych profile on Shepard's pilot, along with a bottle of 47-Thessia Red." And with that, the video cut off, the grainy footage fizzling out to a blank, black screen before collapsing once more into the list of files lined up along the side of the screen. Shepard could only stare in dazed revulsion at the screen as it finished, every outside sound and sensation replaced by the shrill shriek of a tinny whistling sound inside her head, like the sound of a heart monitor flatline pitched up impossibly high. Her every natural instinct was telling her to panic, but her body refused to cooperate, refused to move, or even barely to breathe. Every emotion she could think of was welling up inside her, clashing inside her head, the confused pandemonium of sensations making her feel sick to her stomach.

"Reapertech," she murmured, her lips numb, feeling as if someone else were speaking the word, and she were only watching from a distance. "They used Reapertech… in my rebuild." Turning to look over at Miranda, she stared at her, horrified, barely even seeming to notice her mouth hanging open as she took soft, ragged breaths in, her eyes starting to sting with moisture, though she could not feel herself starting to cry. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, her hoarse voice cracking. "Miranda… why…?"

"I didn't know," Miranda told her, her eyes still glued to the console screen, wetting her lips as she shook her head, her own voice starting to tremble. "Shepard. I swear, I didn't know."

"Miranda…" Shepard started to say, but did not even have time to finish before Miranda quickly whirled on her, her eyes flashing.

" _I didn't know!_ " Miranda insisted, louder this time, a note of desperation creeping into her tone. She breathed heavily, her thin fists clenched desperately at her sides, her pristine hair dishevelled as she gritted her teeth, trying hard to hold back a well of angry, guilty tears. "I had no idea, Shepard," she told her, her voice shaking violently, begging to be believed. "I thought the Illusive Man wanted you brought back exactly the way you'd been before. _Exactly_ the same, Shepard. He wouldn't let me implant you with a control chip, I thought… I _thought_ because he wanted you to have your own free will. That was what he _told_ me…" She stopped, her gaze slowly drifting to the floor, a single tear clinging to her dark lower lashes as she thought back, seeming to realize something for the first time. "And I was stupid enough to believe him," she added, quieter, her voice trembling as she unclenched her fists, running her hands back through her hair in sickened disbelief. "He didn't want me not to implant you so you'd be just the way you were before. He didn't want me to implant you because he didn't want the chip messing with your Reapertech implants. It all makes perfect sense now. It…"

Letting out a deep, shuddering breath, Miranda wet her lips, stunned, her hands still frozen on her head, forgotten. "What have I done, Shepard?" she whispered, horrified, looking up at Shepard again as the single tear skated down her pale cheek. "I thought I was helping… I thought…" Letting her hands fall back to her sides, she looked away from Shepard again, her expression numb, speechless, shaking her head. "I thought I was helping," she insisted again, quietly, to herself. "What have I done?"

"Having Reapertech be part of Shepard's rebuild certainly does explain a few things," Thane commented, taking a step forward, hoping to be the voice of optimistic reason. "Her resilience is second to none. She's much stronger than any human I know. It could help explain how she managed to survive the suicide mission through the Omega-4 Relay, when all projected outcomes pointed to inevitable failure."

"It also explains a few other things," Miranda added, quietly, still staring at the floor. By now she had crossed her arms over her ribcage, each hand cupping the opposite elbow as she stared blankly at a spot near their feet, and, after a moment, she looked up again, her expression still troubled, but now oddly stern, as if she had just remembered something important. "You remember how my father's research determined that Reapertech nanites use natural adrenaline or its counterspecies equivalents to incite mutations?" she asked, solemnly. "How the Reapers would use Dragon's Teeth to shock the body into releasing adrenaline, and the Husk-specific nanites would latch onto the body's release of the adrenaline compound to cause the mutation that turns living subjects into Husks?"

Shepard frowned, confused by the seemingly random reminder, her mind still spinning from the shock of before as she tried to figure out what Miranda was talking about. "I don't see how that's relevant," she admitted. "Unless you're trying to say I'm some kind of super-Husk."

At this, Miranda scoffed, waving her hand a few times in front of her to dismiss Shepard's ridiculous guess. "No, Shepard," she told her, her tone curt, as if she were scolding a child having difficulty with a math problem. "You don't understand what I'm trying to tell you." Reaching up towards the console screen, she tapped the list of files sharply, frustrated, before turning her attention back towards Shepard and Thane, her brows furrowed, eyes intent. "We all know Reapertech uses adrenaline to cause sporadic genetic alterations," she told them, speaking frankly, trying to be as clear as possible. "And since Shepard's body has genetically integrated Reapertech nanites, clearly that's exactly what happened. _That's_ what caused her to get pregnant. Shepard got excited during sex, and the Reapertech in her body used the release of adrenaline as a jumping-off point to cause an unnatural mutation." Dropping her hand from the screen again, she crossed her arms, shrugging, curtly. "It's just like what happened with Grayson," she added. "Except instead of using several moderate bursts of adrenaline to cause an ongoing mutation, it used one large burst to cause a standalone mutation. It all makes perfect sense now."

"Maybe to you," Shepard countered, frowning, trying hard to keep a hot red blush from rising to her face and ears at the blunt mention of her sexual enthusiasm. "None of that made any sense to me."

"Shepard, it's so simple," Miranda sighed, dropping her arms to her sides again as she turned to face Shepard, exasperated. "There were no Husk-specific nanites present in your body at the time, but the general principle is still the same. The combination of two unlike genetically-oriented materials – the Husk-specific nanites and the body's deoxyribonucleic acid in Husks, or in your case, a dextro-ameno sperm and a levo-ameno egg – forced together in one organic body by a rapid genetic mutation brought on by the Reapertech's exploitation of the release of natural adrenaline. Except instead of the reaction overriding your nervous system and causing you to break out in pseudosynthetic tumorous melanomic growths, it caused a limited fusing reaction, and you wound up gestating a cross-amino organic lifeform." Tapping her omni-tool sensor against her leg to wake it up, she turned her attention back towards the console again, beginning to type something into the keypad and pulling up a list of logs much longer than the one Shepard had been drawing from before. Then, passing her omni-tool scanner over the keys, she began to copy the files into its memory, watching as the progress bar on the screen flashed and began to fill up with solid colour.

"That's how you ended up pregnant with a human-turian baby," she added, matter-of-factly, her gaze fixed on the computer screen. "Similar to how the Reapers use Reapertech to fuse turian and krogan cross-amino DNA together to form a Brute. Except you're growing your cross-amino lifeform organically, rather than fusing it together surgically and using Reapertech to keep it alive despite the genetic differentiation." Finished copying the files to her omni-tool's memory, she retrieved her hand again, turning away from the computer once more and propping a thoughtful hand on her hip. "It's very much like the difference between Grayson's Reapertech implantation and yours," she explained, her fingers playing distractedly with the butt of the gun tucked into her belt. "Brutes eventually fall apart because their DNA is forced together while they're still alive, after their immune systems have had a chance to develop, but your baby's genetic coding doesn't know it's not supposed to be that way to begin with. It's the same general concept, Shepard. It makes perfect sense."

"Brutes," Shepard repeated, the word numb on her lips as she turned her attention back to the frozen vidscreen, watching the full progress bar flashing, trying hard not to feel sick at the comparison. "Right."

Just then, Shepard's in-ear comm crackled, causing her to break her gaze away from the computer console as the radio frequency tuned in on Hackett's voice over the receiver. "Incursion team, what's your status?" Hackett asked, his voice stern and to the point, pulling her sharply back to earth. Shepard faltered, opening her mouth to speak, suspended in hazy, wordless animation for a moment, before finally closing her mouth again and clearing her throat, steeling herself against her scattered emotions, returning her full attention to the mission at hand. Pressing her fingers to her in-ear comm, she turned away from the console, making her way towards the green-lit door Miranda had overridden earlier.

"We're inside the base," she confirmed. "Heading towards the main control."

"Good work," Hackett commended, shortly. "Do you need support?"

"Negative," Shepard returned, passing through the door into the hallway beyond, barely even checking to make sure her team was following behind. "Keep the heat on Cerberus. We'll find what we need." Then, dropping her hand from her comm again, she severed the radio connection, taking a few more determined, jogging steps forward towards the treacherous path ahead, before she suddenly started to slow, her footsteps becoming uncertain, halting, as if her mind wanted her to push ahead but her feet refused to cooperate. Coming to a stop in the middle of the hallway, she wavered, swaying faintly forward once, as if trying to convince herself to keep moving but her feet had rooted themselves securely in place, refusing to go any further. Finally giving up trying to move onward, she simply stood fixed in place, her feet spread awkwardly wide as she stared vacantly at a spot on the floor, like a mech that had spontaneously powered down mid-command. Her mind was a fuzzy blank, her entire face still numb, wondering if she had actually just had a conversation with Hackett or if the entire thing had been part of some sort of strange, realistic dream sequence. She felt as if she were outside her body, disconnected, like someone on the outside of an icy window looking in.

Holding up her hands, Shepard stared down at them for a long moment, turning them over dazedly, barely recognizing them despite them being the same hands she had known for thirty-odd years. Miranda slowed as she came up behind her, a faint, worried frown crossing her pretty features, before Shepard finally turned back to look at her, her expression blank. "Am I really Commander Shepard?" she asked, her voice hoarse, as if she barely realized she was even speaking. "I was so sure that I was, that everything was the way it had been before… like dying was just some crazy dream, but…" Stopping again, she frowned, her gaze drifting slowly from Miranda's face towards the wall of the hallway, growing distant. "I don't know," she admitted, quietly, shaking her head slowly. "I can't… I can't explain it. I _feel_ like me. Or, I _felt_ like me. I… I was so sure I felt like me, that I was the only one who could be me, who could feel this way, _like me_ , but now…" Turning her attention down towards her hands again, she stared at them, as if observing a strange alien lifeform for the first time. "I'm not so sure anymore," she said, barely loud enough for Miranda to hear. "I'm just… not sure."

"Shepard…" Miranda sighed, passing a tired hand back through her hair. "Shepard, I don't know how else to explain it. I brought you back to be you. _You're you_. I made absolute sure of that."

"Am I really me, though, Miranda?" Shepard asked, worriedly, turning to face her now, her expression needing. "Or am I just me as you could manage to bring me back? Different, a customized premade vessel, just… with the pretence of being Commander Shepard?" Letting out a frantic huff of breath then, she indicated down towards her body, as if pointing out something frighteningly unfamiliar. "And… am I really pregnant?" she asked, her voice growing more desperate. "Is that real? You said yourself the only reason this zygotic reaction started was because of a mutation brought on by Reapertech. The same mutation that causes people to turn into Husks. What does that mean for me, for my baby, for this entire…? Is this _thing_ growing inside me a baby, a real baby, or is it something else, something…?" She stopped, the horrific, panicked thought causing a firm, dry knot to tie itself in her chest, cutting off her air, making it hard to even breathe, let alone finish speaking. " _What am I_ , Miranda?" she finally asked, her voice quiet, wavering in and out as it shook with honest, unmasked fear. "If I were me, I wouldn't have been able to get pregnant like this. I'm _not me_. I'm not even sure what I am anymore. I'm… something else. Something that this kind of thing can happen to. And that thought scares me more than I can…"

Trailing off again, Shepard shook her head, more firmly this time, before turning her gaze quickly downward towards her armoured stomach, her hands hovering, anxiously, a few inches away, as if afraid to even touch it anymore. "What if I'm doing the wrong thing?" she asked, barely loud enough for Miranda to hear. "What if I'm _not_ supposed to have this baby? What if I'm making a huge mistake? This baby was never meant to be. It would never have existed without Reapertech. If I were the real Commander Shepard—"

"Stop," Miranda insisted, sharply, holding up a firm hand to cut her off short. "Stop right there. You _are_ Commander Shepard. Reapertech or no Reapertech, you're still the same person you've always been, and as long as you know who you really are, _nothing_ can take that away from you." Letting her hand fall back to her side, she propped it thoughtfully against her hip, her expression firm as Shepard looked up at her again, the fear still evident in her eyes even as she listened, needing the reassurance. "You're not a science experiment, Shepard," Miranda told her, speaking more gently this time. "You're a _person_. A real, live person. Your feelings, your experiences… they aren't any less valid because they wouldn't have been possible had we not brought you back from the dead. Even if the Illusive Man did use Reapertech, you're _you_ enough to recognize that you don't want that. That Reapertech isn't who you are. And that's proof enough for me." Holding out her hands then, she indicated towards Shepard again, helpfully. "As for your baby, perhaps you're right," she added, openly. "Perhaps it never would have existed without Reapertech. But it exists now, and it's a part of you. Whatever its original creation may have entailed, what happens to it now is in your hands. You were made with Reapertech, but you're still you. What makes your baby any different?"

Shepard faltered, her hands clenching into weak, subconscious fists a few inches from her sides, her mouth drawing into a thin, uncertain line. Then, letting out a heavy, defeated sigh, she turned away from Miranda again, drawing her gun from its maglock and holding it at the ready. "Let's just go," she said, quietly. "I don't want to think about it. Let's just get this over with. With any luck we'll never have to see this place ever again."

* * *

The door to the central heart of the station lay at the end of a dimly-lit rampway, with only three wan floodlights illuminating the path to ensure wayward visitors did not lose their way in the dark. The floor of the walkway was checkered with weathered metal plates, the sides lined with only a row of short spikes, leaving almost nothing standing between the precarious footpath and the open, bottomless pit below. The ground team's footfalls echoed eerily down the chasm as they made their way towards the top of the ramp, until they finally reached a short, dark hallway, walled in so tightly on either side that two of them could not have fit into it at one time standing shoulder-to-shoulder. The door at the end of the hall had been left suspiciously unlocked, its holo-lock glowing bright green as it waited for their arrival, and, Shepard slowed to a wary stop as she approached it, taking a few steps back for good measure, not wanting to activate the weight sensor just yet.

"This is it," she warned her team, looking back towards them, making sure they were ready to proceed. "Stay sharp, everyone." Then, facing forward again, she stepped cautiously onto the weight sensor, gripping her weapon at the ready as the door to the central chamber slid sharply open, allowing them inside. Waving silently for Miranda and Thane to follow her, Shepard moved inside the room, making a quick visual sweep of the room to make sure they were not walking blindly into an ambush, but then, seeing nothing but empty space, she allowed herself to relax a bit, lowering her weapon to her side. The room they found themselves in was immense, much larger than she had imagined it to be, with pristine plexiglass flooring and ceiling tiles encompassing the entire length of the room, tempered to look like black marbled glass. An enormous panoramic window stretched the length of the far back wall, tinted against the piercing glare of the kaleidoscopic dying star it looked out on to allow them to watch its writhing, fiery surface without having to shade their eyes. A solitary research station sat in the middle of the otherwise empty floor, a single, streamlined swivel-chair rooted in place in front of a massive holographic screen. Coming to stand directly behind the chair, Shepard paused, looking down, and could not help but give a soft huff of recognition at the sight of the broad, black circular vidcomm projection pad beneath her feet.

It was an unpleasant feeling, the sense of morbid familiarity about the whole setup, and Shepard quickly moved on from the pad, not wanting to spend too much time in one place for fear of more memories returning. "We need to locate the Prothean VI," she reminded her team, stashing her gun in her maglock as she settled down into the Illusive Man's chair, starting to pull up the override command. It was not an uncomfortable chair, despite its rigid, minimalist shape, but the thought that she was sitting where the Illusive Man had sat made her antsy, and she could not help glancing over her shoulder as she began to type, making sure he was not there watching her. Finishing her initial override, Shepard sat back in the chair, watching the screen, waiting for it to respond. Then, after a moment of consideration, the console beeped sharply, showing a fast scroll of encrypted coding, before pulling up a second, entirely separate override control, which Miranda quickly set to work on cracking.

"Shepard," the Illusive Man's digitized voice cut sharply through the tense near-silence, causing Shepard to jump nearly out of her skin. "You're in _my_ chair."

Shepard turned sharply at the sound of his voice, whipping around to face the projection standing on the holopad. The Illusive Man watched her from the pad with callous, unamused eyes, his mouth drawn taut, his ever-present cigarette idling between his fingers as he tucked his other hand behind his back, fist clenched. Taking a few determined steps forward, Shepard jabbed an accusatory finger towards the chair, before pointing it in his direction instead. "This chair's about the only damn thing you have left," she told him, her voice a low, hateful growl. "Cerberus is finished."

"On the contrary," the Illusive Man countered, suddenly smug. "We have achieved everything I ever imagined." Pausing, he considered this statement, his cigarette bouncing distractedly between his fingers, before adding, thoughtfully, " _Almost_ everything."

"Yeah?" Shepard insisted, her frown deepening as she gritted her teeth, her hand curling into a fist at her side. "We all saw what you 'accomplished' on Sanctuary. But it's not the same as controlling a Reaper."

"A significant hurdle," the Illusive Man answered, waving an unconcerned, dismissive hand in her direction. "But thanks to the Prothean VI, I have what I need to make it a reality."

"The Catalyst," Shepard inferred, trying hard not to sound rattled at his knowledge.

"Yes," the Illusive Man answered, frankly.

Shepard pursed her lips as she stared at the projection, silently weighing her options, not wanting to let on too much of her ignorance to the Illusive Man but also wanting to know how much he, himself knew of the situation. "What is the Catalyst?" she finally asked, taking another challenging step forward. "And how exactly will it help you control the Reapers?"

At this, the Illusive Man raised his brows, flicking ashes dismissively from the end of his cigarette before indicating towards Shepard with it instead. "You'll have to ask the VI, yourself," he told her, shortly. "I'm done helping you."

Shepard scoffed at this response, propping an unimpressed hand on her hip. "When did you _start_?" she asked, incredulous.

"You think because I'm willing to use the enemy's tactics, that they're no longer my enemy?" the Illusive Man insisted, now sounding insulted. "Everything, Shepard – _everything_ I've done has uplifted humanity. Not only above other species in our galaxy, but over the Reapers."

"If you're willing to do everything it takes, then hand over the Catalyst," Shepard told him, taking another step forward, frustrated. "With the Crucible, _we can end this_."

"It's not that simple," the Illusive Man countered, crossing one arm across his ribcage to rest the opposite elbow against it, distractedly flicking a few stray ashes from the end of his cigarette again as he did so.

"It _is_ ," Shepard insisted, her voice a sharp hiss, her fists clenching angrily at her sides again. "It _is_ 'that simple'. We're fighting each other while the Reapers occupy Earth. It's time to stop."

The Illusive Man gave an apathetic huff, bringing his cigarette to his lips for a long, thoughtful drag, before blowing out the smoke in a thin, sharp stream, knocking the spent ashes from the end of his cigarette, taking his time. "Your idealism is… admirable, Shepard," he finally told her, picking over his words. "But in the end, our goals are simply too disparate. I believe destroying the Reapers would be the worst mistake we could ever make. And nothing you can say will ever convince me otherwise."

"Even with Cerberus in ruins, you still think you can do this your way," Shepard scoffed, holding out her hands towards him, exasperated.

"I would expect you to say that," the Illusive Man told her, letting out a disappointed sigh. "You never truly believed in us. Cerberus isn't just an organization, or the people behind it – Cerberus is an _idea_. That idea is not so easily destroyed." Taking another drag of his cigarette, he wet his lips, exhaling the smoke in a thick huff as he tapped the end of his cigarette with his thumb, shaking off a few loose ashes. "Besides," he added, smugly, looking up at her again. "I've already acquired what you're looking for."

"Miranda?" Shepard asked, glancing over her shoulder towards where Miranda still stood at the console, working feverishly on her override code.

"I've almost got it," Miranda assured her, fixated intently on her work.

"Miranda," the Illusive Man chided in return, his tone that of someone speaking to a disobedient child, causing Miranda to visibly flinch at the hated sound of his voice. "I'm surprised at you. Working so hard to take down an organization that did so much for you."

"Don't listen to him," Shepard insisted, watching as Miranda's expression steeled even further, her typing growing faster and more determined as she sought to finish her override code.

"You could have become my Head of Special Projects," the Illusive Man goaded her, not giving up so easily. "Had your own lab, your own team under your tutelage, your command. You could have done some real good in the name of science. But instead you chose to help the Alliance, and now what are you relegated to? A third-rate hacker?" Miranda said nothing in return, but Shepard could see her face beginning to turn bright red, her hands starting to shake with rage as she sought to complete her override. The console gave off a sharp _beep_ as her hand slipped on one of the lines, and Miranda cursed under her breath, flustered, before tracking back to retype the line again, slower this time, so as not to make the same mistake again. Finally, stepping back from the console, Miranda threw her hands out to her sides, watching with a look of almost manic satisfaction as the coding box flashed green before collapsing back into the keypad control.

"Got it!" she exclaimed, out of breath, barely able to contain her excitement. Taking another step back, she turned her head, watching as a small green orb of flashing, rotating code began to take shape, lifting out of the keypad and settling a few feet away from the station chair. It flickered, uncertain, trying to restructure its fractured, stolen coding, before finally expanding and solidifying into the familiar form of Vendetta, looking around to observe its surroundings before focusing in on Miranda.

"Online," Vendetta reported. "Security breach detected."

The Illusive Man frowned, the edge of his nose wrinkling in a frustrated sneer, before indicating towards Vendetta with his cigarette, forcibly indifferent. "Enjoy your little chat," he told Shepard, facetious. "But don't overstay your welcome." Then, turning away from the ground team again, his holographic form flickered out, leaving the three of them alone in the heart of the station once more.

"You are attempting to recover me from indoctrinated forces," Vendetta observed, turning to face Shepard, curious.

"Yes," Shepard confirmed, taking a step forward towards the VI. "I need to know what the Catalyst is."

Vendetta thought a moment, its flickering coding speeding up momentarily as it searched its databanks, flashing bright green a few times before slowing back down again to its normal speed. "Security protocols have been overridden," the VI answered, cooperatively. "I will comply. The Catalyst enhances dark energy transmissions and coordinates the entire Mass Relay Network. In your cycle, it is known as the Citadel."

At this, Shepard faltered, taken aback by this unexpected twist. "…What?" she finally asked, making sure she had not somehow heard him incorrectly.

"The Catalyst _is_ the Citadel," Vendetta repeated, more firmly this time.

Shepard frowned, glancing between Miranda and Thane to see if either of them understood what the VI was talking about any better than she did, before turning back to Vendetta and narrowing her eyes, propping her hands inquisitively on her hips. "So… the Citadel and Crucible together can stop the Reapers," she concluded, speaking slowly, still not entirely sure she was following.

"That is correct," Vendetta confirmed.

"But…" Shepard paused again, her frown deepening as she worried at her lower lip, still a bit confused. "But… the Citadel was _built_ by the Reapers."

"The plans for the Crucible were passed down to us from the previous cycle, and countless cycles before that," Vendetta explained, evenly. "At some point, it is difficult to pinpoint when, the Crucible plans were adapted to incorporate the use of the Catalyst. Presumably, the Crucible was not sufficiently powerful to defeat the Reapers."

"So we used their own technology against them," Miranda concluded, her brow furrowing, intent.

"Precisely," Vendetta agreed, giving a curt nod.

Shepard huffed, still a bit confused, before pressing an exasperated hand to the side of her head. "Why couldn't you tell me this before?" she insisted, trying hard not to get frustrated at the VI.

"It was feared that if the Reapers were aware of the Catalyst's intended use, they would retake control of it," Vendetta explained, calmly. "I am programmed to withhold that information until the Crucible is complete."

Letting out a heavy sigh, Shepard let her hand drop back to her side, before turning away from Vendetta and starting to head for the door of the observation deck. "It's as ready as it's gonna be," she announced, waving a hand for her team to follow her. "Let's get it to the Citadel."

"That may no longer be possible," Vendetta informed her, quickly, causing her to stop short in her tracks, turning to face the VI again.

"Why not?" Shepard insisted, vexed. It felt like every time she thought she had found a solution, something else came up to block her way, and she was quickly getting tired of the futile runaround.

Vendetta flashed bright green in response, its coding speeding up momentarily as it watched her, considering its reply. "The one who broke through my security protocols – the one you call 'the Illusive Man' – has fled to the Citadel and informed the Reapers of our purposes," the VI finally answered, frankly.

Shepard gritted her teeth, her hand clenching into an involuntary fist at the news. "Damn it," she swore, looking away again.

"Then the Citadel is in danger," Thane concluded, frowning worriedly, causing the VI to look his way. "The Reapers will take control of it."

"They already have," Vendetta confirmed, nodding solemnly, before turning its attention back towards Shepard again. "The Citadel has been moved to Reaper-controlled space."

"Moved?" Shepard asked, startled, taking a few steps towards the VI. "To where?"

"To the system you refer to as 'Sol'," Vendetta answered, evenly.

"Earth," Shepard breathed, crossing her arms and looking at the floor again.

"Correct," Vendetta told her, giving another short, confirming nod. "The Reaper forces will now consolidate power around the Catalyst and protect it at all cost. The odds of accessing it are remote."

Shepard paused, staring at the marbled floor, her brow drawing into a thin, thoughtful line. Then, looking up at Vendetta again, she shook her head, letting her arms fall determinedly back to her sides. "Don't count us out yet," she told the VI. "We've come this far. We'll finish this. We'll get the Crucible to Earth." Turning away from Vendetta again, Shepard pointed towards her two party members, indicative. "Miranda, get me Hackett," she instructed. "He needs—" But before she could finish relaying her directions, a sudden burst of biotic energy interrupted her train of thought, scrambling the information on the panoramic datascreen and causing Vendetta to flicker and collapse back into a ball of spinning code. Turning to see what had caused the disturbance, Shepard felt her stomach drop out at the sight, feeling the hair on the back of her neck start to stand on end as she balled her hands into angry fists at her sides.

"You," she hissed, slitting her eyes at the unwelcome arrival and starting to reach for her Marauder.

Leng gave a cold chuckle in return, his hand poised threateningly at shoulder level as he began to slowly circle the party, like a predator closing in on its prey. "He did warn you not to overstay your welcome," he reminded Shepard, derisively. Then, before she had a chance to react, he darted forward, charging his fist, and drove it into the floor of the observatory, sending her flying backwards with the impact of the blast and sending pieces of flooring and pipework rocketing across the room.

Shepard hit the floor hard when she came back down, hearing a sharp _crack_ as she made impact, but she did not even have time to register it before she had to throw up her arms to cover her head again, protecting herself from a rain of broken plexiglass and piping. Breathing heavily, she pushed the debris off of her, scrambling into a sitting position before looking down to see what damage had been done. She was horrified to realize that her abdominal guard had been broken in half across the middle in the blast, the pieces of tempered plexiglass jutting out in odd, razor-sharp angles from her breastplate and hip-guard, each half still held awkwardly in place by the straps around her back. Taking a sharp, mortified gasp of breath, Shepard reached down quickly, trying to force the pieces back together and clutching at her exposed stomach, which was now protected only by her undersuit. Then, looking up at Leng again, she pushed herself away from him across the floor, fumbling blindly for her gun and pointing it at him as she pressed her free hand against her stomach, holding the broken abdominal plate desperately in place.

Leng paused for a moment, staring at her, seeming a bit surprised, himself, before his lips suddenly curled into a thin, wicked smile. "So that's what you did with your rebuild, is it?" he asked, his tone sickeningly smug, beginning to pace in front of her. Giving a curt, mocking laugh, he spun his katana deftly at his side, watching as Shepard's gaze shifted anxiously from his face to his sword and back again. Then, shaking his head, he locked his harsh gaze on her, intent, like a predator closing in on an injured deer. "Foolish," he told her, his voice a dark hiss, the arrogant smile slowly falling from his face. " _Selfish_. No wonder the Illusive Man had you replaced." There was a strange, warped, animalistic tenor to his voice now, something in the way he spoke that made it clear that, while he had undoubtedly wanted to kill her before, he was now more determined than ever to see it through. The fact that he was so focused, so eager to be the one to say 'I killed Commander Shepard and her unborn child' made Shepard's blood run cold, and, letting go of her abdominal guard, she reached forward, gripping a piece of metal pipe jutting angrily out of the floorboard, and used it to pull herself unsteadily to her feet.

Glaring up at Leng, Shepard raised her hand again, a faint aura of biotic blue power pulsing between her fingertips as she gritted her teeth, determined. "He didn't have me replaced," she told him, clenching her hand into a fist. "I _quit!_ " And with that, she forced her hand forward, letting loose an enormous, shrieking burst of biotic energy. Leng screamed loudly, staggering back in pain at the impact, every piece of tech on his body crackling with biotic force. He stumbled, falling to his knees, wracked with pain, but then, after a moment, he pushed himself back to his feet again with a snarl, refusing to be beaten so easily. Rushing forward towards Shepard, Leng swung his katana downward, aiming to split her head in half, but she reflexively raised her gun to meet his blow, blocking him and causing sparks to fly from the impact. Leng swung his sword at her again, at an angle this time, but again Shepard blocked him, pushing forward with her gun to stagger him off-balance before following up with a swift, hard kick to the stomach, sending him once more to the floor. Firing off a few blind rounds, Shepard ducked for the nearest cover, closer to the door of the observatory, and watched as Leng easily dodged her fire, leaping to his feet and rolling away before heading in the direction of the panoramic window.

"This is better than Thessia," Leng taunted, spinning his katana eagerly, waiting for her next move. "Much more personal this time. I didn't know your secret then. I don't know how I could have been so blind. But now I know, and now _you're mine_."

"Just because you didn't know it doesn't make it a secret!" Shepard shouted back, standing from her cover to fire off another round, which Leng was just as quick to dodge. Watching him move deftly across the room, Shepard steeled her footing, keeping her gun trained on his movements as she let her other hand hang concealed at her side, allowing her biotic charge to build as she waited for his inevitable approach. "You willingly allowed Cerberus to implant you with Reapertech," she told him, firing another few shots in his direction, keeping his attention on her weapon. "I'm not afraid of you. You have no principles. You're _weak_!"

"Let's not even talk about who allowed themselves to get implanted with what," Leng called back, coldly, before letting out a dark, mocking laugh at his own cruel joke. Shepard flinched at the insult, blushing hot red, before gripping her weapon even tighter and letting off another few rounds in his direction. Leng dodged the bullets again, ducking behind the Illusive Man's chair as one of the shots grazed the ground a few inches from his foot. "I am stronger for my implants," he called out, still taunting her. "We evolve or we die, Shepard. Those are the only options!"

"There are always more options!" Shepard shouted back, taking a few more shots in his direction, keeping him on his toes. By now her hand was glowing bright white-blue with biotic energy, but she kept it hidden behind her cover, forcing more power into it and clenching her hand into a fist as it began to emit a low, electronic-sounding hum. Taking a few last shots at Leng, Shepard ducked down behind cover again, swearing under her breath as she realized that the heat sink in her Marauder had begun to glow bright orange. "You took the coward's way out!" she called, popping out the spent heat sink with her thumb and starting to dig awkwardly in her pouch for a replacement. "You always were a coward, Leng. You'd rather run than fight like a man!" Pushing the fresh sink into the weapon with a _click_ , she picked up her gun again, hefting herself heavily back to her feet, and turned around to face him again, only to find that Leng had managed to close the distance between them while she had been distracted with the heat sink and now stood directly in front of her, his katana ready at his side. Before she could lift her weapon to fire, he struck her hand with the blunt edge of his sword, knocking her Marauder to the floor and causing it to fire off a few stray bullets, before his other hand darted out quickly towards her, gripping hold of her throat and squeezing down hard, constricting her windpipe, causing her to see stars.

"I always wanted to kill you, Shepard," Leng hissed, bringing his face in close to hers. "But now I get to do better than that. Now I get to kill you _both_."

" _Like hell_ ," Shepard choked, feeling the blood rushing to her face as her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Then, before Leng could see what was coming, she lifted her biotically-charged hand, clenching her fist as tightly as she could, and drove it directly into his face. Leng's grip on her throat relented instantly as he was thrown from his feet with the force of the blast, skidding backwards across the tile, leaving a trail of blackened, melted plexiglass in his wake. Released from his inhuman grip, Shepard gasped for breath, coughing and falling to her knees, before looking up in time to see Leng's cybernetic armour upgrades begin to whine like a grenade on the verge of explosion. His armour crackled with blue and white lightning as the biotic energy skipped across the reinforced surface, shocking and burning him, frying his systems, until finally, overstimulated with biotic power, the high-tech upgrades shattered with explosive force, sending pieces of armour flying across the room like a blackened, electric firework. Leng let out a feral cry, gripping his burned and bloody face as he collapsed to the floor of the station, tendrils of smoke drifting off his bare skin as what remained of his charred and ruined armour began to smoulder off his body in ashen tatters. Giving another strangled yell, Leng looked up towards Shepard again, starting to drag himself towards his dropped katana, but then, with one last, futile reach, he buckled, hand still outstretched, before laying face-down on the scorched, ruined floor, silent and motionless at last.

Shepard breathed heavily, watching Leng, hardly daring to believe he was actually defeated. Then, when another long, taut moment passed without him getting up, she gave a hard, victorious huff of breath, pushing herself back up to her knees before allowing Miranda to help her the rest of the way to her feet. Making her way over to where Leng lay sprawled, Shepard kicked his katana away from his hand, watching as it skittered across the floor before looking back down at his motionless body. "And _that's_ what I did with my rebuild," she told him, her voice a low, triumphant growl. Turning away from the inert assassin then, Shepard made her way to the workstation again, sitting back down in the Illusive Man's chair and starting to type a command into the keypad. Pulling up a list of files and the Vendetta VI encryption code, she held her omni-tool scanner up to the console reader, allowing them to register one another, glancing over quickly as Miranda approached before returning her full attention to her work. The workstation reader gave a soft beep as it recognized the omni-tool, and a progress bar quickly popped up on the panoramic screen, starting to fill slowly with solid blue as the files began to transfer over.

Miranda gripped the edge of the Illusive Man's seat, watching intently as the progress bar began to creep closer to full, hardly daring to breathe for fear it might cause the system to crash. With their focus entirely on the screen, both Shepard and Miranda were too distracted to notice that Leng had begun to struggle to his hands and knees behind them, crawling painfully across the marbled floor towards where his katana had been discarded. Grunting in pain, he reached out to pick up his weapon, planting the katana against the floor and using the sword to push himself agonizingly back to his feet. Once on his feet, he panted heavily, his laboured breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as he turned in the direction of the workstation again, dragging his burned, ruined leg behind him and moving at a zombie's pace towards where Shepard still sat with her back to him, unaware. Taking another limping step forward, he raised his katana above his shoulders, preparing to bring the blade down on her head, but before he even had a chance to strike, he found himself suddenly stopped short. Leng gasped, choking, seeming surprised, before slowly looking down towards the source of the disturbance, only to have his dark, ruined eyes grow wide at the sight of a red-hot omni-blade sticking gruesomely out of the front of his chest.

For a moment, he could do nothing but stare, seeming unable to register what had just happened. Then, giving a gagging cough, he lurched up a gush of dark red blood, the liquid spilling over his chin and dripping onto his chest. His hands grew slack around his katana, his fingers loosening on the grip until he could no longer hold it, causing the weapon to clatter uselessly onto the floor behind him. His knees were quick to give way beneath him, and he slumped back uselessly against the omni-blade, causing Thane to take a step back as he withdrew his weapon from the assassin's chest. Letting his blade fade out again, Thane watched as Leng dropped to his knees, and then, with another choking gurgle, collapsed into a motionless pile on the floor. Hearing the sound of the commotion behind her, Shepard turned around in the Illusive Man's chair, looking down at the bloody carnage, seeming surprised by the sight at first. Then, looking up at Thane again, she offered him a dark nod of approval, before turning her attention back down to Leng and shaking her head, giving a soft, satisfied huff of breath at the sight of his ruined, defeated corpse.

"That's for my baby, you son of a bitch," she hissed.

* * *

A transmission from Anderson was already waiting for Shepard by the time she returned from Cronos Station, and she quickly made her way down to the vidcomm room, not wanting to keep him waiting too long. Pressing the flashing incoming message button, she took a step back from the vidcomm console, watching as the projection of Anderson flickered, the image fizzling in and out, shifting around, part of him disappearing momentarily only to be quickly filled in again as he moved forward into the centre of the pit. "Shepard, do you read me?" he asked, intent, his voice crackling over the console speaker, the audio hissing with static and white noise.

"Barely," Shepard admitted, making a concerned face as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie.

Anderson frowned at her answer, frustrated, before reaching forward to tap the invisible console in front of him, causing the image to sharpen a bit. Then, seeming satisfied with his makeshift fix job, he turned his attention back towards Shepard again, expectantly. "I assume you've heard about the Citadel?" he asked, his voice much clearer over the connection now.

"Just now," Shepard answered, truthfully.

Anderson nodded, understanding. "Do we know what's going on?" he asked. "Why it's here?"

"The Citadel is the Catalyst," Shepard explained, taking a hand from her pocket to hold it out towards him, clarifying. "Thanks to the Illusive Man, the Reapers are now aware that we know."

"And so they moved it here to protect it?" Anderson asked, his lined brow furrowing as he tried to understand what she was telling him.

"As far as I can tell," Shepard returned, frankly, letting out a soft sigh as her hand dropped back to her side again.

"So what does this mean for the Crucible?" Anderson asked, clearly pressed for time. He glanced over his shoulder, as if expecting to be interrupted at any moment, before turning his attention back towards Shepard again, intent.

Shepard shook her head, taking an uncertain step back from the vidcomm console. "I'll talk to Hackett," she told him, fairly. "But… it looks like our plan is even more desperate now."

"Agreed," Anderson answered, offering a curt, discouraged nod. "I've got a team in London. The Reapers have been preparing for something here… now we know what for." Taking a step back towards the back of the pit, he glanced over his shoulder again, anxious, clearly hearing something she could not, before turning his attention back to Shepard again. "We'll scout it out," he assured her, shortly. "Try to find out as much as we can."

"Roger that," Shepard confirmed.

Anderson nodded again, seeming distracted, his dark gaze drifting to a corner of the room as he tucked his hands thoughtfully behind his back. Then, suddenly straightening again, he looked back at Shepard, raising his bushy brows and offering her a kindly, amicable smile. "Well, at least we'll be seeing you sooner rather than later," he told her, trying his hardest to sound upbeat.

Shepard hesitated, unsure how to respond to this, before taking a step forward towards the pit and offering him a small, wan smile of her own. "Be careful, Sir," she told him, earnestly.

"You too, Shepard," Anderson returned. "Anderson out."

Despite the shortness and relative direness of the conversation, Shepard could not help but feel a bit better after her discussion with Anderson. It had been so long since she had gotten to talk to him one-on-one without Hackett standing over them and driving the conversation that it almost felt like a welcome distraction from the goings-on of the Normandy. Turning away from the vidcomm pit, Shepard made her way through the war room again, passing around the galaxy map station towards the ship's elevator, heading down to the main crew level. She could feel a knot of apprehension twisting itself in her stomach as she pressed the button going down, and she leaned back against the wall of the elevator, taking a few deep, reassuring breaths, trying to go over in her head exactly what she would say when she arrived. The elevator gave a soft _ding_ as it reached her designated floor, the doors sliding open with a soft hiss, and for a moment she stood still against the back wall, not moving, debating whether she should just skip telling him altogether and pretend their earlier conversation never happened. Her attention moved distractedly across the memorial in front of the elevator as she thought, her gaze coming to rest on the nameplaque pinned to the top, and for a moment, she hesitated, frowning faintly, before letting out a soft sigh and pushing herself away from the back wall of the elevator.

"You'd want me to tell him, wouldn't you, Kaidan," she breathed, her fingers drifting over the name engraved on the nameplate before falling back to her side again. "You always did keep me honest." Turning away from the memorial again, she tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, taking a deep, readying breath, before starting to make her way towards the ship's gunnery. She paused outside the door of the gunnery, feeling the same sense of sickening dread, before straightening her shoulders and taking another step forward, activating the weight sensitive plate, causing the door to slide open to allow her inside.

Tali looked up in surprise as the door opened, quickly straightening her posture from where she had been leaning against Garrus' calibrations desk and turning to face Shepard, crossing her thin arms self-consciously over her chest. "Shepard," she said, sounding surprised to see her there. "It's… good to see you! We were just… saying goodbye."

"And making friendly wagers," Garrus added, cheekily, seeming much less nervous at having been interrupted.

Turning to face Garrus again, Tali scoffed, good-naturedly. " _Optimistic_ wagers," she corrected. "In your case."

"A turian military operative competing with a quarian… mechanic," Garrus told her, pausing to mull over a polite, concise title for her position on the crew. "And _I'm_ the optimistic one?"

"Do you remember Ilos?" Tali challenged, leaning against the desk again, seeming almost to forget Shepard was there.

Garrus sighed, looking down to the floor, before turning his patient attention back up towards Tali again. "Yes," he said, playfully long-suffering. "It was full of geth, which tilted the odds in your favour."

"Excuses, excuses," Tali teased.

Garrus shrugged. "I doubt you'll be hacking any synthetics this time," he told her, smirking.

"I still have the shotgun," Tali pointed out, offering an impish little shrug in return.

"I'll be sure to let a few Reaper forces get close enough for you to use it," Garrus assured her, giving a soft chuckle of amusement. Then, turning his attention towards Shepard again, he raised his plated brows, offering her a friendly smile. "Was there something you wanted to talk about, Shepard?" he asked. "I remember you said you had something to tell me after you got back from Cronos Station."

"It's…" Shepard hesitated, biting her lip, her gaze flicking anxiously to Tali before moving back to Garrus again. Despite his cheerful tone and obvious good intentions, she was still finding it hard in the moment not to feel betrayed and put on the spot. "It's nothing," she said, shaking her head, trying to keep as straight a face as possible. "It's not important. I'll tell you about it later."

"The mysterious Commander Shepard," Garrus teased, causing Tali to give a small laugh in return. Shepard could feel the tips of her ears burn red at being made fun of, but she quickly swallowed her affront back down again, not wanting to seem like she was overreacting. Instead, she shrugged, raising her brows, and offered them a thin, crooked smile in return.

"That's me," she answered, weakly, forcing a soft, awkward breath of a laugh. "Mysterious."

* * *

The door of Shepard's cabin slid open quietly, causing Shepard to look up from where she sat, cross-legged, on the bed, her datapad balanced between her knees, lost in worried thought. Liara peered in at her from the doorway, hesitant, as if waiting for an invitation to come inside, before cautiously moving in past the door and starting to make her way towards the bed where her friend sat. Shepard gave a soft sigh as she approached, turning her attention back to the datapad in her lap, and when Liara sat down on the bed beside her, she realized that what Shepard was looking at was the four-dimensional image of her ultrasound. Shepard frowned at the image in her lap, dragging her finger distractedly across the screen, shifting it around, as if looking for something specific. "Shepard?" Liara asked, gently, causing Shepard to glance up at her again before turning her attention back towards the screen. "Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

Shepard hesitated, staring down at the ultrasound image in her lap. Then, setting the datapad aside on the bed, she gave a heavy, tired sigh, resting her hands against her knees as she stared down at her stomach in front of her instead. "There were… information stores in Cronos Station," she finally answered, quietly, not wanting to give too much away. "Research logs, talking about… all of Cerberus' genetic experiments. What they did with them. How they weren't all… up to code." Going quiet again, she stared in worried silence at the floor of her room, her brow furrowing deeper as she tried to think how best to explain her distress to Liara. "I'm really scared, Liara," she finally told her, looking up at her friend again, her voice shaking with honesty. "Cerberus used Reapertech in my rebuild. The same tech the Reapers use to make _Husks_. I'm just… I'm really…" She stopped again, her voice catching in her throat, before leaning down towards her knees, overwhelmed, tucking her hands protectively over her head.

"I'm really scared my baby is going to come out and end up being… one of those… _creatures_ ," she whispered, barely daring to even speak the word, for fear it might somehow make it that much more true. "We found out… they said this baby would never have even existed if not for Reapertech. What if this isn't just a freak pregnancy, Liara? What if I'm… a gestation tank, for the next evolution of Reaper soldiers?" Looking up at Liara again, she indicated her stomach, desperate. "What if, by keeping this baby, I'm just adding to their strength, fuelling their adaptation?" she asked, fearfully. "If I have this baby, if I allow her to come into this world… who knows what could happen? Who knows what I could be starting?"

Liara sighed, gently, reaching over a hand to rub Shepard's back reassuringly as she returned her head to her hands, overwhelmed. "You're overthinking this, Shepard," she told her, speaking quietly. "Even if Cerberus did use Reapertech in your rebuild, it's impractical for Reapers to depend on organic procreation methods for their soldiers. Right now, it takes hours, days at most to make a Husk—"

"And they last for maybe a week," Shepard told her, sitting straight again, cutting her off sharply. "Three weeks at the most. A Reaper soldier _born_ into its technological enhancements, though— it could last _years_." Holding out her hands in front of her, she stammered wordlessly, tripping over her syllables as she shook her head, desperate, unsure how else to express her sheer panic at the idea. "It's not impractical, Liara," she told her, her voice rising steadily in pitch. "It's _terrifying_. It's terrifying, and it's—it's _not_ impractical, it's _practical_ , and it's… it's _horrific_ —"

"I'm sorry, Shepard," Liara apologized, quietly, cutting her frantic fumbling short. Wrapping an arm around her friend's shoulders, she drew her in closer towards her, leaning her cheek against Shepard's head and letting out a deep, soft sigh. "I didn't mean to sound like I was invalidating you," she told her. "I just hate to see you worry, that's all." The two sat in silence for a moment, not knowing what else to say, the soft sound of the bubbling fish tank filter the only thing breaking the uncomfortable quiet. Then, seeming to get an idea, Liara lifted her head again, reaching back towards where the datapad had been set aside on the bed and pulling the pad back into her lap. "Let's take a look at your Reaper baby," she said, teasing gently, balancing it against her knee so Shepard could see the screen as well. Shepard sniffed, rubbing absentmindedly at her eyes, before resting her head on Liara's shoulder and looking down at the pad in her lap, watching as Liara tapped the screen, pulling up the four-dimensional image of the ultrasound. "Look, look there," Liara told her, expanding the image and pointing to the ghostly baby's still-closed eyes. "There's her cybernetic optical implants… every good Reaper creature has them."

"Of course," Shepard agreed, weakly, playing along as best she could.

"And look," Liara added, dragging the image downward again and pointing to one of the baby's miniscule balled fists. "There's her metal grappling claw. She might have to grow into it a bit, but I think it should work for her just fine until she gets the hang of using it." Shifting the image around some more, Liara next pointed to the baby's tiny feet. "Take a look at those claws," she teased. "You're right, Shepard, this baby is a menace. And is it just me, or does she look a little bit like Saren?"

At this, Shepard laughed out loud, unable to help herself. "I would never have slept with Saren," she told Liara, shaking her head, wiping absentmindedly at her eyes again. "Nihlus, maybe, if he was into it. But never Saren. I promise you that." Taking a deep breath then, she smiled sadly up at Liara, before letting out a long, soft sigh, unable to help but feel a sense of relief pass over her at her friend's reassurance. "Thank you, Liara," she told her, quietly, leaning over to pull her into a warm, grateful hug. Setting the datapad aside again, Liara returned the hug, just as warmly, before nestling her head comfortingly into Shepard's shoulder and letting out a soft sigh of her own.

"Everything is going to be fine, Shepard," Liara assured her, gently. "I _promise_."


	32. WEEK EIGHTEEN, Pt.1

It had been a long while since Shepard had had any real amount of downtime, but even so she could not help but feel guilty as she lay on her back in bed, staring up at the passing starscape through the window built into the roof of her cabin. Her hamster had been let free from his cage, and now scurried around on the bed beside her, squeaking and snuffling as it pressed its pink whiskered nose to the sheets, inspecting its new environment with enthusiasm and wonder. Letting out a soft sigh, Shepard reached over towards her nightstand, picking up the miniature model of the Mako she had left sitting there and turning it over in her hands. Then, reaching down towards her distended stomach, she pushed her undershirt up to her breasts, starting to pass the model vehicle slowly along the curved line of her abdomen, smiling faintly as she did so. The hamster looked up in curious surprise at the sound of the squeaking wheels, and Shepard looked over at him in response, considering him for a moment, before reaching over and picking him up, setting him on top of the vehicle as she continued to roll it across the terrain of her stomach.

"Commander Shepard, you're such a good driver," she teased the rodent, who looked up at her with bulging, beady eyes, its whiskered nose twitching as it tried to figure out what was going on around it. "Where did you learn to drive, Commander? You should get a promotion."

As if on cue, the hamster gave a short squeak, before scuttling and tumbling over the side of the Mako, landing on its back on her exposed midsection. Shepard gave a short, surprised laugh in response, setting the model vehicle aside as she watched the hamster right itself, before it started to enthusiastically explore its new, unfamiliar territory. Its little clawed toes tickled her skin as the hamster scurried across her bare abdomen, pausing to perch at the highest point and clean its whiskered face before starting to move again. Sliding down the top of her stomach towards her face, it lingered for a moment in the hammock of her shirt stretched between her breasts, before turning around again and starting to make its way back up towards the peak of her stomach once more. "That's gonna be a baby," she told the hamster, sliding her hands across her stomach to cup the hamster between them at the navel, watching as it lifted its little pink nose into the air, sniffing, its whiskers twitching as its bulbous black eyes flicked all around the room, inspecting its surroundings. "I'm gonna be a mommy soon. What do you think about that?" In response, the hamster chirped, sniffing her hands, before starting to climb over them towards her feet and scurrying down the length of her leg, causing her to sit up in bed with a surprised laugh.

"Not so fast, smart guy," Shepard told him, scoldingly, scooping the hamster up again and causing it to give a small chirrup of protest. "What kind of no-good friend are you? Bailing as soon as I tell you I'm pregnant."

Just then, the sound of Joker's voice crackled on over the intercom, causing Shepard to look up towards the source of the sound, raising her brows in surprise at the unexpected interruption. "Commander, you've got a priority message from Admiral Hackett, requesting to come aboard," Joker informed her, straightforwardly.

"Permission granted," Shepard answered, quickly, swinging her legs out of bed and starting towards the hamster cage at the opposite end of the cabin. Prying off the lid of the cage, she dropped the hamster back inside, making sure his dish was full before closing the lid again and latching it securely.

"Aye, Commander," Joker agreed. "And, just so you know, he'll be on in about five. Might want to start heading up to the crew deck."

"Thanks, Joker," Shepard returned, turning to make her way towards the cabin bathroom. The intercom cut out again as soon as the bathroom door closed behind her, and she quickly grabbed the well-used dish of concealer from beside the sink, sighing heavily and running a frustrated hand back through her hair as she looked up at her sullen reflection in the bathroom mirror. She had taken to wearing makeup less and less in the past few months, mostly due to a lack of time to apply it, but also due to not thinking she really needed it. Now, as she passed a hand across her freckled cheek, she could not help but wince at how haggard and tired she looked in her reflection compared to the way she had looked when they had first started out, when she had first gotten back aboard the Normandy after departing from Anderson back on Earth so many months ago.

Her cheeks had gotten puffier, her jawline softer, while her neck had gotten thinner, almost skeletal in comparison, seeming to barely support her unseemly, overlarge head. Her nails had been chewed down to the quick in anxiety, and her hands had turned bright pink, speckled with unattractive white splotches, puffy, clumsy and swollen atop pale, skeletal wrists. Dark, obvious circles had formed under her eyes, belaying her appalling lack of sleep and making her look like a gaunt, dying goldfish, and she cringed as she twisted open the lid of the concealer, dabbing a healthy amount onto her fingers and starting to slather it under her eyes. She hoped the makeup would be able to hide at least some of the damage, but she doubted it would do anything to hide the other telltale signs that she had not been taking proper care of herself. Finishing with one eye, she frowned up at her reflection again, inspecting the deplorable job she had done covering the first dark circle and wondering if it would even be worth trying to cover up the other one in the same way. Then, letting out another heavy, put-upon sigh, she picked up her ampule of concealer again, dabbing an application under her second eye and starting to blend it in as well.

She figured it would be better to seem like she was making an effort than to look like she had completely given up on herself – even if, in reality, she had given up on her outward appearance long ago. Finishing up as best she could manage, she screwed the cap back on her concealer, tossing it aside next to the sink, and straightened her hoodie, making sure it covered her beltline and undone zipper. Then, giving one last, quick pass through her overgrown hair with her fingers, she turned away from the mirror, making her way out of the bathroom and towards the door of the cabin, heading for the central elevator.

Hackett was already boarding the Normandy by the time Shepard arrived on the navigation deck, and as soon as he spotted her exiting the elevator, he turned on his heel, making his way around the central starmap, all but ignoring the rest of her captivated crew as he came to stand at attention in front of her. Drawing his heels dutifully together, he hardly even seemed to notice how worn out she looked or how out of breath she was as he offered her a solemn, respectful nod of acknowledgement. "Commander," he greeted her, matter-of-factly.

"Admiral," Shepard answered, just as shortly, offering him a militaristic salute.

"Are you ready to bring the might of the galaxy to bear on the Reapers?" Hackett asked, returning the salute, before allowing his hand to drop sharply back to his side.

"Yes, Sir," Shepard confirmed, letting her hand fall away from attention as well, before reaching out to take his hand in a firm, familiar shake.

"Then let's make sure the fleets are ready," Hackett told her, returning the encouraging handshake. Turning to glance back towards Traynor, he raised his bushy brows, expectantly, watching as she pulled an official-looking report up on the screen of her station console.

"All fleets reporting in, Sir," Traynor confirmed, turning to look back at him and offering a curt, professional nod.

Hackett nodded in return, turning his attention away from the yeoman, before moving past Shepard to make his way up the steps of the podium at the head of the starmap, tucking his hands dutifully behind his back as every pair of eyes on the Normandy turned to face him in rapt attention. "Never before have so many come together from all quarters of the galaxy," Hackett began, speaking with determination. "But never before have we faced an enemy such as this. The Reapers will show us no mercy. We must give them no quarter. They willterrorize our populations. We must stand fast in the face of that terror." Just then, Shepard felt a jolt, as if something had pushed up against her from the inside, and she gasped, sharply, pressing a hand to the side of her stomach where the sudden disturbance had come from. Hackett turned on his podium at the sound, frowning back at her, concerned, but Shepard quickly followed up with a loud, dry, fake cough, using the hand not holding her stomach to cover her mouth with a civil fist. Seeming satisfied with this explanation, Hackett turned around on the starmap podium again, folding his hands more securely behind him as he took another deep breath, ready to go on.

"They will advance until our last city falls," he told the crew, resolutely. "But we will not fall. _We will_ _prevail_. Each of us will be defined by our actions in the coming battle." Lifting his chin proudly, he looked out over the Normandy crew, addressing every eager face staring up at him, watching him, holding fast to his words. "Stand fast," he told them. "Stand strong. Stand together. Hackett out." Then, having finished his speech, he turned, descending the steps of the starmap podium, and moved over towards where Shepard still stood, her hands tucked anxiously behind her as she waited nervously for his inevitable approach. "You should really do something about that cough, Commander," Hackett told her, reaching out to touch her arm, indicating for her to come along with him. "Doctor Chakwas probably has a quick fix for it. You should take a quick trip down to the infirmary before you head out to the battlefield."

"Right," Shepard agreed, half-heartedly, tucking her hands warily into her pockets as she followed him through the halls of the Normandy, heading towards the war room.

"The solar fleets are ready to strike at the Reapers surrounding Earth," Hackett told her, returning quickly to the issue at hand as he passed around the central war hub, barely sparing a glance for the slowly-spinning hologram of the completed-looking Crucible. "While they keep the enemy engaged, you and Hammer ground forces can take London."

"London?" Shepard asked, turning to look at him, surprised. "Why aren't we hitting the Citadel directly?"

"Anderson can brief you on that," Hackett told her, coming to a stop in front of the vidcomm pit, causing Shepard to look up, hardly having noticed where they were heading. As Hackett reached forward, activating the incoming message signal, Anderson's spectral image flickered to life in the vidcomm pit, fizzling a few times before solidifying and taking a few wary steps forward towards the two of them. "Admiral, how are you holding up?" Hackett asked, tucking his hands behind his back.

Anderson sighed, clearly worn down, his military garb scuffed and threadbare as he glanced over his shoulder, anxious, as if expecting something to come up behind him at any moment. "We're ready to end this," he answered, honestly, before reaching forward towards his own console, not visible in the projection, and pressing a button, causing a blue holographic image of the Citadel to appear in the pit alongside him. "But as you can see, the station has closed itself since it appeared over London."

"Dammit," Shepard swore, crossing her arms over her chest as she frowned at the projected image. "Gotta get the arms open to dock the Crucible."

"Exactly," Hackett agreed, solemnly.

"But London is surrounded by Hades Cannons," Anderson countered, waving a hand, causing the projection of the Citadel to flicker out again. "Hammer transports can't land while they're active. A ground team will work to take out the Cannons using heavy weapons. Once they've taken care of that, Hammer can land and we'll set up a forward operations base."

"I still don't see how we're getting to the Citadel from London," Shepard admitted, making a face.

"The Reapers use a central beam to transport humans, alive and dead, to the Citadel," Anderson explained, reaching forward to his console to pull up another projected diagram. "From the FOB, Hammer will launch a full-out assault on the Citadel beam. Everyone who makes it that far will take the beam to the Citadel, then locate and activate the Citadel arm controls. That's where you come in, Commander. You'll be going in with that team."

"Once we see those arms, Shield Fleet will escort the Crucible to the Citadel," Hackett added, taking an assured step forward towards the vidcomm pit. "But timing will be critical. We don't have enough firepower to keep the Crucible safe for long."

"Nothing's ever easy," Shepard sighed, her frown deepening. "No reason it should start now."

"It's desperate," Anderson agreed, wearily. "I don't even want to guess at our odds. But—"

"But this is the only plan we have," Hackett cut over him, firmly, crossing his arms now, mimicking Shepard's motion. "If we wait, the Reapers bleed us slowly. Conventionally, we can't defeat the Reapers without the Crucible." Turning his attention towards Shepard then, he frowned at her, his expression grave. "Get the Citadel arms open, Commander," he instructed her. "Whatever the cost. We'll do the rest."

"Yes, Sir," Shepard acknowledged, offering him a curt, agreeing nod.

"Good luck," Hackett sighed, turning his attention towards Anderson again. "To all of us."

"Good luck to all of us," Anderson agreed, gravely, nodding in return. "Anderson out." And with that, he reached forward, pressing a button, causing the spectral projection to flicker once before disappearing from the vidcomm pit entirely.

As soon as Anderson had disappeared, Hackett frowned, grunting in concern, before letting out a short, sharp exhale and turning to look at Shepard again. He glanced down, giving her a quick once-over, before leaning in towards her and clearing his throat gently, getting her full attention. Shepard looked up in surprise at the motion, caught off guard, before leaning in towards him to hear what he had to say. "Commander, I'm not sure if you're aware," Hackett told her, speaking barely above a whisper, making sure only she could hear him. "But your fly is down. You might want to fix that." Then, having said his piece, he turned away from her again, tucking his hands behind his back as he made his way through the war room towards the rest of the Normandy, leaving her to stand alone in the vidcomm room in stunned, embarrassed silence.

* * *

Shepard had already laid out her armour on the bed by the time Liara made her way to the captain's cabin, and had since moved on to sorting out which pieces could be put on with the least amount of assistance. Moving up behind her at the bed, Liara watched over her shoulder in interest as she separated the pieces to one side of the bed or the other, pausing to consider a few of them before making the decision of which way to sort them. Her face was drawn in concentration, her brow furrowed into a hard line as she stared in intense deliberation at a pair of shoulder guards, as if the decision on how to group them was the most important thing in the world. "How did the meeting with Hackett go?" Liara asked, speaking quietly so as not to startle Shepard, unsure if she knew she was there or not.

Shepard scoffed in response, nonplussed, setting down the shoulder guards and picking up her helmet instead, turning it around in her hands until the visor faced her, showing her worn reflection. "Hackett thinks I'm a joke," she answered, darkly. "Solara started kicking in the middle of his speech, and then he saw my pants were unzipped… he must think I've lost my mind, Liara. Or maybe he just thought I was drunk or something, I don't know." Dropping her helmet back onto the bed again, she picked up one of her armoured gloves, pulling it on, before picking up the other one to pull onto her opposite hand, making sure it fit securely. Her hands felt hot and swollen, and the gloves were itchy and uncomfortable pressed so tight against her skin, but she figured the swelling might go down a bit if she just refused to think about it. "All I do know is that nothing good could have come from that meeting," she added, picking up her undersuit and giving the stiff material a good shake out, before lifting a foot, preparing to step into it for one last time. "He's probably talking to my mom right now, telling her her daughter is losing her marbles over on the Normandy."

Liara smiled, reaching out a hand to help steady her friend as Shepard slid one leg through an undersuit foot hole, and then the other, pulling it up to her hips with a twisting yank. "You called her Solara," Liara informed her, her voice barely above a conspiratorial murmur.

Shepard hesitated, pausing in donning her undersuit, as if realizing this for the first time herself. Then, letting out a short huff of breath, she pulled the suit up her form a bit more, giving a soft grunt as she did so, sliding her arms through the arm-holes. "Well, that's her name," she answered, quietly, shifting the suit up to her neck, trying to ignore the obvious bulge in the front of the material as she did so. "I don't see why I shouldn't call her by it."

"I know," Liara answered, fairly, moving up behind Shepard to gather the material of her undersuit together, preparing to zip it up again. "But—" Letting out a grunt of effort, she yanked the undersuit zipped upward, her fingers turning purple with effort as the zipper stuck at the small of Shepard's back. "You're going to need to suck in," she told her. "A lot. Better yet, put up your hair in a ponytail so you don't have to hold it and try pushing in with your hands. That might help."

"This is ridiculous, Liara," Shepard huffed, reaching down to her nightstand to grab a rubber band from the drawer. Pulling up her hair in a messy ponytail, she sucked in a deep breath, feeling her toes digging into the floor of her cabin as she pressed in on her stomach, waiting anxiously for Liara to finish with her zipper. Her concentration was quickly broken, however, as soon as she heard the disconcerting sound of ripping material coming from the back of the suit, and, letting her breath out in a heavy huff, she turned, trying to see what had happened. Liara swore quietly at the setback, sucking agitatedly on one of her sore purple fingers, watching as Shepard let the undersuit slide back down her shoulders to examine the damage that had been done. Pulling the zipper around to visibility, she realized to her discontent that the material near the small of her back had torn clean away from the zipper in the attempt to zip it up over her bump. "Fuck," Shepard swore, sliding her fingers through the hole, before letting the suit drop from her hands again. "This was the men's cut. This was the biggest one I had. What am I supposed to do now?"

Liara frowned, glancing down at the array of armour spread out across the bed, before her attention was drawn to an open crate still sitting, nearly forgotten, in a corner of the room. Moving over towards it, she knelt down beside the crate, reaching inside and pulling out several pieces of larger armour, setting them down beside her on the floor. "The men's abdominal and spine guards seem to be larger than the female counterpart," she observed, pointing to the pieces as Shepard came over to stand beside her, the top half of her undersuit still hanging awkwardly around her waist. "Presumably that means they'll afford you a larger region of protection. You could wear your ripped undersuit and couple it with these. No one will even notice it's torn, and you'll get an extra amount of protection for your…" She paused, indicating awkwardly to the area around her middle, before letting her hands drop back to her lap, staring up at Shepard's exposed baby bump. "Midriff," she finished, shortly.

"Men's armour?" Shepard asked, frowning as she propped her hands against her waist, staring down at the pieces laid out on the floor around Liara. "Liara, that armour is faulty. I got it half off specifically because it was defective. I might as well just paint a bullseye on my chest for the Reapers to aim at."

"Well, what do you suggest we do, Shepard?" Liara asked, folding her hands patiently in her lap and looking up at Shepard, expectantly. "I'm not entirely thrilled with the idea of you wearing defective men's armour, either, but there isn't exactly a depot nearby we can stop at to get you a replacement. Before, we could have stopped by the Citadel, but now…" Trailing off, she held her hands out, shrugging, before returning them to her lap with a soft, drained exhale. "I'm open to alternatives," she added, optimistically. "Perhaps we could ask Ashley to borrow one of her undersuits instead. She's busty and tall. It might work."

"Sure, she's busty," Shepard agreed, discouraged. "But she's also got one of the smallest waists on the Normandy. Liara, that's…" Letting out a long, drawn-out exhale, she ran her hand back through her bangs, gripping her short, messy ponytail, before letting her hand drop back to her side again and looking down at the armour spread out across the floor, defeated. "Does wearing the male abdominal plate mean I'll have to wear the entire men's suit?" she asked, pointing to the piece sitting nearest to Liara's knees. "I don't think I'm that tall."

"Just the breastplate, probably," Liara told her, reassuringly, pulling the hefty plate out of the box and laying it beside her on the floor of the cabin. "The male abdominal and spine guards likely won't fit with the female breastplate, but they should fit just fine with the female pelvic guard." Turning around to face Shepard again, she let out a soft sigh, leaning one tired elbow against the edge of the armour crate. "This will be the last time you have to worry about wearing armour while you're… not your normal size," she told her, frankly, still trying her hardest to be delicate about the whole situation. "And honestly, out there in the field, fighting Reapers… I don't think anyone's going to make a big deal about it if you look a little strange. Just tell them your other armour broke. It's only the truth, after all."

"I know it is," Shepard answered, exasperated. "I know, but… I just… I still…" She faltered, discouraged, trailing off and fidgeting distractedly with the edge of the undersuit still hanging awkwardly from her waist. Then, giving a short, sharp, frustrated huff, she let the undersuit drop back to her knees, holding out her hands towards Liara instead. "Fine," she conceded, bluntly. " _Fine_. Just… give me the damn breastplate, Liara. And the other thing, too. I'll put it on." Accepting the hefty armour plating handed to her with a soft grunt, Shepard turned back towards the bed again, setting it down, before starting to pull her undersuit back up over her arms and torso. "If this plan goes to hell, just know I'm blaming you," she told Liara, glancing back towards her as the asari got to her feet again, preparing to zip her up the back.

"As long as you both come back alive, I don't mind being blamed for it," Liara answered, evenly, offering Shepard a soft, knowing smile. "Now suck in as much as you possibly can. Let's get you suited up."

* * *

The ground assault on the Hades Cannons had been brutal. Hammer forces had done most of the blessed heavy lifting, going in ahead of the rest of the squadron to knock out the worst of the Reaper heavy artillery, but with their shuttle crippled by a Reaper tracker beam attack, it was up to Shepard and her team to head down for the rescue. Reaper forces had closed in quickly on the remaining soldiers on the ground, and Shepard had to avert her gaze from the sight of a still-kicking man being torn to pieces by a group of howling Cannibals as she made her way through the wreckage, keeping herself from being sick all over the front of her armour. Gruesome sights like these had become almost commonplace for her during the last three years fighting the Reapers, but her stomach had grown unbearably sensitive lately, making it difficult to concentrate as she made her way through the blackened rubble towards where a wounded soldier sat coughing against a rock outcropping. She figured the shapeless mass of rock might at one time have been part of a building, but now, like everything else in the barren, sullied wasteland of Earth, it was difficult to tell.

The sound of a far-off Banshee's screech reverberated in Shepard's ears as she crouched down beside the wounded soldier, her teeth setting firmly on edge as she hoisted him up to his feet, before looping his arm around her strong shoulders. The soldier murmured an unintelligible thanks in her ear as they both looked up towards the darkened sky, waiting for their rescue shuttle to come back around. "Anybody, come in, we need extraction," Shepard hissed into her earcomm, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to draw attention to herself or her wounded compatriot. The radio signal crackled inarticulately in response, causing her to wince at the sharp noise in her ear, before the Banshee's scream resounded again, closer this time, causing her to turn on her heel, feeling the hair on the back of her neck start to stand up, a cold chill trickling down her spine as she tried to figure out which direction the unearthly noise was coming from. She barely noticed as Ashley and Vega came up to stand beside her on the field, marshalling a painfully small group of Hammer soldiers behind them, some more wounded than others.

"We've got company," Vega breathed, gripping his gun more tightly to his chest.

Frowning worriedly, Shepard pressed her fingers back into her in-ear comm, hoping to get a stronger signal on the second try. "This is Commander Shepard, are there any Alliance personnel in the vicinity?" she insisted, a bit louder this time, only to be met again with fragmented white noise. Just then, the sound of guttural howling reached their ears, and Shepard looked up, her eyes wide, feeling her blood start to run cold at the sound. Loud, heavy footsteps shook the ground under their feet as a hulking, lopsided form began to rise over the crest of the battlefield, until finally, the Brute appeared, its massive clawed arm held up over its head as it let out another rattling snarl. The creature's piercing blue eyes honed in quickly on the group, and it let out a colossal, howling roar, before starting to propel itself across the field towards where they stood, hoisting itself along the ground like a giant, morbid gorilla on its enormous, freakish arms. Shepard blanched, feeling her insides turn to ice, nearly dropping her wounded ward in her haste to grab her Marauder from the maglock at her back. However, the creature was already to them by the time she drew her gun, and she did not even have time to fire it before the Brute reached out, knocking the gun from her hand, and stepped down hard on it with a sickening whine of the weapon, crushing it into useless pieces.

Shepard felt her mind go blank with panic at the sight of her trusty weapon in fragments, but did not even have time to think before she ducked another slash from the Brute, dragging the wounded soldier with her as she made a dash for the nearest cover. Pulling the soldier in close beside her, she jammed her fingers in her in-ear comm. "We need a pickup!" she shouted, her voice breaking as the Brute lashed out towards her again, knocking a piece off the top of the wall where she and the soldier were hiding. The Brute let out a guttural howl, frustrated at missing its target, stomping the ground so hard she could feel her teeth rattling in her head. "We need a pickup NOW!" she shouted. "RIGHT NOW! _RIGHT NOW!_ "

"This is Hammer team," a familiar, reassuring voice suddenly crackled back over the in-ear comm. "Prepare for extraction."

No sooner had the message come through over the radio when the heartening sound of shuttle engines reached Shepard's ears, and she looked up in unrepressed relief to see a worn, blue shuttle streaking down through the sky towards their position. The shuttle was quick to settle into a hover a few yards away from where she sat, and when the door slid open, she saw a familiar-looking, silver-haired soldier crouched at the edge of the shuttle door, holding out his hands towards her, beckoning for her to come closer. Hoisting herself unceremoniously to her feet against the wreckage of the wall, Shepard made a limping dash for the door, dragging the wounded soldier along behind her, until she finally made it to the shuttle, handing the soldier over and watching as he was helped eagerly inside. Once the wounded combatant was safely inside the Kodiak, the silver-haired soldier turned his attention back towards Shepard, holding out his hands towards her again, waiting for her to board. Gripping hold of the soldier's outstretched arms, Shepard held on tightly, allowing him to heave her up and over the edge of the Kodiak with a grunt of effort, before dragging her into the shuttle as well and depositing her unceremoniously onto the carriage floor.

Vega and Ashley were quick to follow, along with their wounded wards, easily making the jump into the shuttle before the door closed tightly behind them and the vehicle gave a sharp whine, accelerating upward into the sky. The Brute's howl could be heard behind them, growing fainter the higher they flew, as well as the sound of the Reaper creatures' plasma bullets pinging off the shuttle's protective shell. Shepard lay on the floor of the Kodiak, pressing her palms into her eyes as she tried hard to catch her breath, before letting her hands drop back to her sides again, leaving her staring up at the metal ceiling of the shuttle. Seeing her odd state of affairs, the silver-haired soldier moved over to her again, crouching down to bend over her, curiously, staring down into her face with an uncertain, crooked smile. "You okay?" he asked, raising one shaggy brow.

Shepard looked up at him, pausing a moment, considering his oddly familiar face, before letting out a long, drawn-out breath and shrugging her plated shoulders. "I'm alive," she answered, frankly, not bothering to get up from the floor as she spoke. "That's about as good as I can guarantee right now."

"That you are, Commander," Anderson's cheerful voice suddenly piped up from a far corner of the shuttle, causing Shepard to look up with a start, only to find him leaning over her, smiling down into her face. Holding out a friendly hand, Anderson pulled her up into a sitting position, and from there helped her back up onto her feet, allowing her a moment to regain her equilibrium. "I knew you wouldn't let me down, Shepard," he told her, reassuringly.

"It's good to see you," Shepard answered, gripping his hand and pulling him into a short, one-armed hug. Anderson returned the hug, just as warmly, but it did not take long for Shepard to quickly realize her mistake and pull away from him again, hoping her moment of forgetfulness had not given her away.

Anderson did not seem to have noticed anything, however, as he merely offered her a deep, warm chuckle, giving her hand one final, friendly shake before letting go of it to take hold of one of the overhead handlebars. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he told her, giving her a quick, amicable once-over. Then, pausing, his brow furrowed faintly, his gaze vacillating as it passed over her breastplate, moving up to her face and then down again, as if unsure he had seen correctly the first time. "Men's armour?" he asked, interested. Shepard faltered at this, a bit confused, until Anderson nodded towards her attire and she looked down, realizing what he was talking about. Looking back up at him again, she offered him a curt nod, hoping that by saying nothing she might quell the topic before it could go any further, but Anderson did not seem interested in pursuing the matter, merely giving a short, attentive grunt in response. "Interesting choice," he told her, shortly, before returning his attention to her face again, finished with the topic of conversation.

"How're we looking?" Shepard asked, reaching up to take hold of one of the overhead handles, barely able to contain a sense of overwhelming relief.

Anderson grunted again, steeling his footing as the shuttle gave a turbulent shudder. "Now that the heavy air defences are dealt with, Hammer can land," he answered, matter-of-factly.

"And not a moment too soon," the silver-haired soldier agreed, causing Shepard to glance back over her shoulder towards him.

"What's left of the resistance is holding the forward operating base," Anderson added, his bushy brow furrowing, his expression turning grave. "But the Reapers are countering already. Once we regroup, it's going to be up to Hammer to take up the fight."

"It must have been brutal here," Shepard told him, frowning. "Cut off from the rest of the Alliance."

"It's been touch and go from day one," Anderson admitted, his grip on the overhead handlebar tightening as the shuttle rocked under their feet again, causing them to sway with the motion. "But once we figured out the Reapers were focusing on the major centres, it became easier to avoid direct contact."

"Until London," the silver-haired soldier put in.

"Yeah," Anderson agreed, solemnly. "We held back as long as we could, sending in recon teams… lost a lot of good men planning this attack. But with experienced soldiers like Lieutenant Zabaleta, and knowing you'd bring us help… we held on."

"Zabaleta?" Shepard asked, surprised, turning around to face the silver-haired soldier standing behind her head on. "Lieutenant Ernesto Zabaleta? From the SSV Einstein?"

"The same," Zabaleta agreed, offering her a worn, toothy half-smile.

"I thought I recognized you from somewhere," Shepard admitted, frowning faintly at the revelation. "Just couldn't quite place where. Now I know." In truth, the last time she had seen Zabaleta, he had been traumatized, intoxicated, and homeless, begging for spare credits on the Citadel to pay for his next meal. To see him here now, looking like this, clean-shaven, bright-eyed, full-faced, and back in military garb, was almost too startling for her to register.

Zabaleta nodded agreeably, his tired, crooked smile widening in response to her look of surprise. "Didn't expect to see me, huh?" he asked, reading her expression. Letting out a soft, hoarse chuckle, he looked down towards his feet, his hand tapping distractedly against the butt of the gun at his belt. "Well, you and your mom, you did me a world of good," he told her, honestly, shaking his head. "I went to Veterans Affairs on the Citadel like you told me, and they helped me get my life turned around. At first it was mostly just placebo stuff, y'know, things to make me not think about what happened on Mindoir…" Sucking in a deep breath, he paused, thoughtful, before looking up at her again and raising his bushy eyebrows. "But after that, I started getting some real help," he added, optimistically. "Started talking to a psychiatrist about my PTSD, going to AA meetings to deal with my alcoholism… and once I'd gotten a year of sobriety under my belt, your mom talked to Admiral Hackett, and he let me join back on with the Alliance under a probationary period. Once that was up and I proved my mettle… they let me come back full time. Just in time to help you fight back the Reapers, Commander."

Reaching down to his belt then, Zabaleta shifted his ammo pouch aside, drawing up a small, faded silver keychain attached to his belt loop and holding it up for her to see, proudly. "Two years sober," he told her, tilting the little silver '2' so it caught the dim glint of the shuttle's carriage lights. "And counting."

"Do you think you'll be okay out here?" Shepard asked, warily, making a face, gripping the overhead handlebar tighter as the shuttle rocked under their feet again. "Mindoir was bad, but this is… something else."

"Mindoir was my worst nightmare," Zabaleta returned, solemnly, letting the keychain fall back to his belt again. "Millions of miles from Earth, surrounded by aliens, trapped in cages with nowhere to run, and the screaming…" Faltering, he trailed off, his hand moving to his head as he stared at the floor of the shuttle, his breathing practiced and even as he tried to settle himself from the thought of the nightmare he had left behind. Then, after a long moment, he took a final, deep breath in, before looking up at Shepard again, now more determined than ever. "Comparatively, this is… hell," he told her, honestly, speaking quieter now. "But it's hell I've seen before. I'm on home turf now. I've got a gun in my hand, and I'm free. This is what I'm good at, Commander. And until I prove unsuitable for service, I'd like it if you'd give me a chance to prove I can help you just as well as any other soldier on your team."

"Zabaleta's one of my best men, Shepard," Anderson told her, getting her attention and offering a reassuring nod in Zabaleta's direction. "He's held up remarkably well, to his credit, and offered invaluable strategic support. If it wasn't for him and the rest of the resistance, well… we'd all be dead in the water."

"Anderson's just being modest," Zabaleta returned, giving a soft huff of a diffident chuckle. "He's the _real_ reason any of us are still alive."

"Let's not start handing out medals just yet," Anderson answered, waving a dismissive hand at the compliment. "This fight's just getting started, and Hammer better be ready for it."

"They didn't start out together, but they're ready to stand side by side and win this war," Shepard answered, glancing back towards the small group of injured Hammer soldiers huddled in the corner of the shuttle. All of them were watching the conversation eagerly, their eyes trained on Shepard and Anderson, silent but attentive.

"Good," Anderson returned, honestly, offering a curt nod. "That's what it's gonna take."

"We'll get it done, Anderson," Shepard assured him. Anderson nodded again in response, wanting to believe her, before turning his gaze away from the small group to stare longingly out the window of the shuttle. Just as he did, Shepard felt another jolt from inside her armour, pressing sharply up against the side of her stomach, and she gasped, the reaction involuntary, before quickly shutting her mouth again, swallowing back her breath and stifling her shock. Vega looked up in surprise at the sound, but Shepard simply shook her head, indicating to a large, vague area on her ribcage with her free hand. "Bruise," she told him, speaking quietly. Vega nodded in response, understanding, before dropping his gaze to the floor of the shuttle again, not giving her unusual reaction any more thought. Letting out her breath in a long, relieved sigh, Shepard turned her attention back towards Anderson again, feeling her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she watched him staring out the window, lost in thought.

"I was born in London," Anderson suddenly spoke up again, his voice soft, almost distant as he watched the passing scenery, his brow furrowing faintly at the sight of the monotonous rubble below.

Shepard raised her brows, intrigued, turning to face him fully now, trying to ignore the twinge of panic lingering at the back of her mind as she did so. This last kick had been a fluke, with Anderson distracted by the sight of war-torn London, but if her baby were to kick again, she was not certain she would be able to cover it up as successfully as she had before. "Really?" she asked, interested, hoping to keep his focus on anything but her.

Anderson nodded, still seeming completely absorbed by the cityscape for a moment. Then, turning to look at her again, his expression cleared, steeling instead into one of determination. "The entire galaxy, united," he said, soberly. "Too bad it took the Reapers to bring us together."

"Shepard's the one that brought them together," Ashley corrected, causing Shepard to look back towards her, barely able to contain a small, guilty smile.

"That's exactly what I meant," Anderson agreed, offering a confirming nod. "I know you didn't like leaving, Shepard. But no one could have accomplished what you've done."

"It's good to be back home," Shepard told him.

"There's the FOB," Zabaleta informed them, moving across the length of the carriage to peer out the tiny side window. Anderson turned at the announcement as well, his dark eyes narrowing as he looked out the window past Zabaleta's shoulder, watching the approaching landscape.

"Looks good," Anderson consented. "Give Hammer the all-clear." Then, steeling his grip on the overhead handlebar, Anderson watched out the window of the shuttle as the Kodiak settled into a dusty descent, before finally landing with a jostle on the rocky, war-torn ground. The door of the shuttle lifted open with a hiss, allowing its passengers to get out, and as it did so, a new, unfamiliar soldier approached them, holding his gun eagerly at the ready as he looked between their sombre faces.

"Admiral," the soldier greeted Anderson eagerly. "We set up a command centre in the building over there." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards a nearby building, causing Anderson to glance over towards it before returning his attention to the soldier again, approving.

"Looks like we've still got groups coming in," Anderson informed him, solemnly.

The soldier nodded in return, just as grimly, as if he were already well aware of this news. "Yes, sir," he answered, making a quick check of his weapon, ensuring it was still fully charged. "But not as many as we'd hoped."

"Hmm," Anderson frowned, turning his gaze downward, thoughtful for a moment. Then, looking up towards Shepard again, he took a short, sharp breath, offering her a curt, indicative nod of his head. "Come see me when you're ready, Shepard," he told her, resolutely. Then, turning away from her, he began to move in the direction of the building the soldier had indicated earlier. Shepard watched him walk away for a moment, her brow furrowing faintly as she observed his retreating back, before she turned her attention outward towards the bleak city view. She hardly even noticed as Zabaleta exited the shuttle, coming to stand beside her as she looked out over the war-torn landscape, her expression solemn as she took it all in, barely recognizing it as Earth.

"Could really go for a drink right now," Zabaleta commented, his voice barely loud enough for her to hear, causing Shepard to look up at him, startled, only to find him grinning over at her like a knowing, worn-down Cheshire cat. "Only joking, Commander," he told her, earnestly, offering a soft, hoarse chuckle at her expression. "Just making sure you're paying attention." Then, turning back towards the battlescarred cityscape, he took a deep breath in, holding it for a moment, before letting it out in a long, low, solemn exhale. "The fighting here has been some of the worst on the planet," he told her, his tone completely serious now. "It looks bad, but there's still hope. And… you're here. It'll do the troops good to see you. Bolster their resolve."

"I'm just a soldier like them," Shepard returned, frowning as she looked back over the bleary landscape, hardly daring to believe that this had once been someone's home – _her_ home.

"You might see yourself like that," Zabaleta told her, frankly, indicating out towards the gathered troops. "But they don't. Like it or not, Commander, you're a hero to these men and women. Don't discount the effect that can have on them." Pausing then, he took in another deep, filling breath, holding it for a moment, thoughtfully, before finally letting it out in a long, tired sigh. "I better go meet up with my battalion," he told her, offering her a solemn nod. "I'll see you at the command centre."

"See you around," Shepard agreed, half-heartedly, before turning and watching as Zabaleta began to walk away in the same direction Anderson had disappeared to.

* * *

The forward base of operations was about as bleak as Shepard had expected it to be – the entire thing was encased in what once had likely been a city block, but which now looked like nothing more than a haggard, barren ruin. The narrow, cobbled streets were littered with debris knocked away from the nearby buildings, with broken, abandoned children's toys and shattered window glass lining the sidewalks and gutters, piled up so high it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. The glass in the street had long been ground to a fine powder from the many armoured boots that had passed over it, causing the thoroughfare to glint against the wan floodlights stationed all along the base, giving it an almost otherworldly glow. Shepard dragged her feet as she walked, staring at the dirty ground, her fingers drumming distractedly against the butt of the rarely-used Carnifex tucked into her belt. With Hammer attempting to regroup and restrategize after the attack on the Hades Cannons, it had given her a good deal of downtime until the next push forward that she had no idea what to do with.

Coming to a stop in the middle of the street, Shepard looked up, taking a deep breath of sooty London air as she inspected her surroundings, half aware. She stopped short when her gaze fell on a familiar figure crouched near the far corner of the street, near one of the main housing units, and she frowned, a bit surprised, before starting to make her way over towards the preoccupied, armoured woman. "Miranda," Shepard commented, causing Miranda to look up at the sound of her name. When she saw who it was who had addressed her, however, she offered Shepard a small, knowing smile, before returning her attention to her armour and starting to fiddle with it again.

"Commander," Miranda answered, evenly, giving the locking mechanism on her boot another quick tweak before moving her attention up towards her calf-guard. "Hope you don't mind me crashing this little party of yours." Finished adjusting her calf-guard, she stood straight again, propping her hands thoughtfully on her hips as she gave Shepard a quick once-over, noting the odd change of armour but deciding not to say anything about it as she returned her attention to Shepard's face. "I got a few sideways looks from Alliance brass when I offered to help in the field," she added, letting out a soft, unsurprised huff of humourless laughter. "I figure they can't afford to be choosy at this point."

"I'm glad you made it out," Shepard told her, offering her a short, affirmative nod. Then, pausing, she frowned a bit, glancing over her shoulder before returning her attention to Miranda. "Where's…?"

"Matti is with Oriana back on the Normandy," Miranda answered, holding up a hand to cut her off. "We had a small talk after you left… we've decided to keep her after all. We figured she'd do best living with Oriana, all things considered, but… I'm still allowed to visit, from time to time." Dropping her hand back to her hip, she hooked her thumb in her ammo belt, offering a short shrug and a quick, sad half-smile. "I'd be her aunt, I suppose," she added. "Or something like it. We haven't quite figured out the details yet, but she's still very young. We figured we had some time to work it out once the war was over… granted we both survive the bloody thing." Pausing then, she faltered a bit, her gaze falling from Shepard's face as she thought about this morbid statement. "The important thing is that Ori survives, so she can look after the baby," she admitted, thoughtfully, reaching up a hand to rub at the side of her chin with her thumb. "I don't really have plans to die, but… you can never know for certain in these things, am I right?" Letting her hand drop back to her side again, she paused, considering this, before finally letting out a soft, tired sigh, resting her free hand against her hip as she dug the toe of her heeled armour boot anxiously into the rocky ground, causing it to kick up a small cloud of dust.

"You know, Shepard," she said, speaking quieter now. "If we come back from this at all, everything will be… different. You know that, right?"

Shepard frowned, taken aback by this unusual statement, before crossing her arms across her chest, determined. "Of course everything will be different," she admitted, causing Miranda to look up at her again, intent. "But it will be on our terms. We've been running until now, Miranda. It has to stop. You have to believe we're not done yet."

Miranda paused, considering this, before finally letting out another soft breath and nodding along with the sentiment. "I understand," she answered, evenly. "And, listening to you… I can believe that."

"Good," Shepard answered. "And, Miranda… be careful."

"I will," Miranda told her. "I promise. And… you too, Shepard. You've got a lot left to take care of after this war is over. And… now." Having said this, she paused, her pretty brow furrowing faintly in worry, as if she had somehow managed to forget until just that moment that Shepard was still pregnant. Taking a step closer to Shepard, she glanced over her shoulder, making sure no one was listening in on their conversation, before clearing her throat gently and taking a breath, leaning in to speak to her in confidence. "Have you… told him yet?" she asked, quietly. "About…" She faltered, trailing off, biting down anxiously on her plush lower lip before tilting her head indicatively towards Shepard's abdomen. Shepard looked down, a bit surprised, before looking back up at Miranda again, her hand passing distractedly over her plated stomach as she frowned, letting out a low, heavy sigh.

"No," she answered, truthfully, all but feeling Miranda judging her as soon as the word passed her lips. "I didn't, I haven't… I haven't had a chance. There wasn't an opportunity. Every time I tried, I…" She paused, stopping short, anxiously wetting her lips as she looked down towards her stomach again, her frown deepening with frustration at her own excuses. "It almost, it feels… too late, now," she finally admitted, her voice low, her fingers tapping pensively against the curved, armoured line of her abdominal guard. "Like… there was a point where I could have told him, and it would have been… but it's passed, it's gone, now it's… now he'd just…" Stopping again, she took a deep breath in, sucking in on her lips, before letting it out again, slowly, her breathing ragged as her hand came to rest flat on her stomach, thoughtful and distracted. "It's not _just_ a pregnancy anymore," she said, her brows furrowing together. "It's… a _baby_. Four and a half months, that's like… that's not just finding out, Miranda. That's _halfway through the entire thing_. Telling him now, when I'm this far along… it would be like telling him… saying that…"

She paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath, feeling her eyes start to sting with resentment as her free hand came to rest on her hip, disappointed in her own human failings. "Whatever input he might have had, whatever experience he might have wanted to have with it… I took it away," she said, her voice quiet, trying hard to keep it from shaking with resentment. "I did it _intentionally_. I kept it from him, because I was too scared, too… _spineless_ to say something about it in a timely manner. I didn't _want_ to keep the baby, not at all… not at first, but by the time I did, by the time I realized that… it was too late. I was too far along, and I didn't want to have to explain myself. To him… to _anyone_." Looking up at Miranda then, she let out a trembling breath, her expression drawn in a hard, indignant frown as she fought to push back the lump of self-loathing that had lodged itself in her throat. "I was a _coward_ ," she spat, hatefully. "I took this from him, I made bad decisions he might not have wanted me to make… and there's nothing he can do about it, because I didn't include him. I didn't include him _on purpose_ , Miranda. Telling him about it now… it would be like spitting in his face."

"As opposed to telling him after the battle?" Miranda pressed, speaking in an equally low hiss, thrusting her hand back towards the adjoining building. "After you've put yourself in irreversible danger? As opposed to telling him after the baby is actually born? Surprise, Garrus, you're a daddy now – four and a half months after the Battle for Earth!" Scoffing, she dropped her hand to her side again, no longer trying to hide her disapproval. "Do you think he's not going to do the math?" she asked, harshly. "He's not stupid, Shepard. He's going to figure it out one way or another, and when he does, he's going to be _beyond_ upset you didn't tell him sooner."

"Which is why I've been putting it off for so long," Shepard insisted, looking up at Miranda again, starkly. "I knew he'd be upset with me, and I didn't… I didn't want to have to deal with that. Our relationship has always been…" She paused, trying to find the right word for it. "Questionable," she finally decided. "You know that. When I first got pregnant, we were barely even friends, and…" She trailed off, pursing her lips, swallowing back hard as a knot of anxiety began to tie itself in her throat, making it difficult to breathe or even swallow. That last part was an exaggeration and she and Miranda both knew it, but Shepard was far too flustered and angry to bother with being entirely accurate. "I… felt her kicking earlier today," she suddenly added, almost as a surprised afterthought. "Before I headed out… when Hackett was addressing us on the Normandy. I felt her kicking for the first time then, and… I honestly felt like I was going to be sick." Pressing an anxious hand to her stomach, she took a deep breath in, making a face, as if expecting the baby inside to kick again at any moment and preparing for the worst. "I was so scared, Miranda," she told her, barely daring to speak above a worried whisper. "I'm _still_ scared. I'm so scared of anyone finding out. She's alert now, though, she's… she's _alive_. It's different now, it's different, and it's… just so…"

Looking down towards her stomach again, her brow furrowed even deeper as her second hand moved to join her first, pressed protectively against her abdomen. "It's _terrifying_ ," she said, exhaling deeply, as if almost too frightened to believe her own words. "It's a _living thing_ in there, Miranda. It's not just a clump of cells anymore— it's _my daughter_. It's my baby. My little girl."

"Has she moved any more after that?" Miranda asked, fascinated, reaching out a hand and moving forward towards Shepard to feel the baby kick. Shepard panicked at the sight, taking a step back and quickly waving Miranda away, before looking up past her anxiously, afraid someone might have seen their display and figured out something was amiss. Miranda took a step back in response, withdrawing her hand and holding it against her chest as if it had been burned. "Sorry," she murmured, barely above an embarrassed whisper. "Didn't mean to give you away. I wasn't thinking. I apologize."

"It's okay," Shepard assured her, letting out a soft, anxious exhale. "I wasn't thinking, either." Glancing once more over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation, she turned her attention back towards Miranda, solemn. "She has, though," she added. "Kicked again after that. Once, on the shuttle ride over with Anderson. Nearly gave me away, but everyone was busy thinking about other things, I guess."

"Lucky for you," Miranda conceded. Crossing her arms, she sighed, heavily, her brow furrowing darkly as her gaze came to settle on Shepard's stomach, troubled. "You could still bow out gracefully, you know," she told her, her voice low. "You could tell Anderson you twisted your ankle or something. Nobody would even ever have to know the real reason. Going in with the ground team…" Her frown deepened, her hands curling into anxious fists against her thin upper arms as she wet her lips, letting out a short, restless huff of breath. "You could get hurt," she told her, concernedly. "Or worse, killed. And nobody knows what that beam could do to you – _if_ you manage to get there."

"We'll get there, Miranda," Shepard assured her, her hand coming to rest on the butt of her Carnifax.

Looking up at her again, Miranda paused, surprised, before raising one curious, sculpted eyebrow. "We?" she asked, pointedly.

Shepard hesitated, taken aback at having been called out, before clearing her throat and looking downward towards her feet again. "Well… me," she amended, quietly. "I'll get there. And when I do…" She paused again, frowning faintly, before taking in a deep, thoughtful breath. "I don't know what I'll do," she admitted, looking up at Miranda again. "Take Earth back, I guess."

"That's as good a plan as any," Miranda conceded, offering her a faint, forced smile in return.


	33. WEEK EIGHTEEN, Pt.2

The sound of sombre male voices could be heard carrying through the base building as Shepard made her way through its bleak, rubbled halls, passing through a set of doors into what appeared to be some sort of respite. Crude, hammock-like cots lined the walls of the room, several of which already held sleeping or relaxing soldiers, while a handful of large weapons racks had been pushed up against the back wall, holding the majority of what she guessed was the soldiers' firepower. Garrus stood beside one of these weapons racks, seeming to not even notice her presence as he ran a well-worn rag over the length of his sniper rifle, cleaning it lovingly while he conversed with a soldier sitting upright on one of the nearby cots. "It's a shame to see another planet get hit like this," the soldier commented, letting out a deep, weary sigh.

"It'll be the last one if I have anything to say about it," Garrus returned, checking the scope of his rifle, making sure it was properly configured. "This nightmare finally ends _today_."

"You really think the Reapers can be defeated?" the soldier asked, looking up at Garrus from where he sat, raising his brows, expectantly.

Garrus gave a soft huff, checking the heat sink in his rifle to make sure it was fresh, before popping it back in and collapsing the weapon, returning it securely to the maglock at his back. "I know they can," he answered, determinedly. "That whole Sovereign business a few years ago? He was the first to die. Now all his friends will, too." Then, looking up from the conversation, he watched as Shepard moved towards him across the war-torn pavilion, his plated brows raising faintly as a small, familiar smile lit up his sharply-cut features at the sight of her. "Shepard," he greeted her, turning to give her his full attention. "Long time no s—" But he did not even have time to finish his teasing statement before she grabbed him by the front of his armoured cowl, pulling him down towards her and pressing her lips to his mouth, cutting him off short. Garrus faltered, thrown off balance for an instant, but he did not resist, instead allowing her to kiss him, and kissing her back just as tenderly. Then, finished kissing him to her satisfaction, Shepard relaxed her grip, allowing him to stand up straight again, watching as he stared back at her, still a bit dazed, unable to keep the telling, crooked smirk from his face at the unforeseen show of affection.

"Well," he finally commented, letting out an amused, satisfied huff. "That was… unexpected. Good to see you too, Shepard."

"Sorry," Shepard grinned, embarrassed, reaching up to wipe at the side of her mouth, hoping to hide the light pink blush rising to her cheeks. "I got a little carried away. I'm just glad to see you, is all."

"I can tell," Garrus agreed, letting out a deep, fond chuckle. "I guess it's true what they say. Absence makes the heart grow fonder." Suddenly, he paused, his plated brow furrowing a bit as he turned his attention down towards her armour, apparently noticing it for the first time. "Is that… men's armour?" he finally asked, trying not to sound too confused.

Shepard faltered, looking down at the armour she wore, holding her hands out to her sides, before looking back up at Garrus again, expectantly. "Yes," she answered, trying to sound as casual as possible at having been called out. "Or, well – the chestplate and abdominal guard are. My other armour broke. This was all I had left over."

"Men's armour, though?" Garrus repeated, tilting his head to one side, observing the getup, curiously. "You didn't have any women's armour you could use? One of Liara's suits, or Miranda's?"

"They're both shorter than me," Shepard countered, shaking her head. "Especially Liara. Plus Miranda's suits are built to fit her…" She paused, holding up her hands, half-heartedly indicating an exaggeratedly full bust, before letting them fall quickly back down to her sides again. "Shape," she said, awkwardly.

"Hm," Garrus grunted, righting his head to look at her straight on again. "You say that like you haven't got one of those, yourself." He paused, considering her, before taking a slow, thoughtful breath and raising his plated brows, his gaze fixed on her flat breastplate. "Though, I have to admit, your… _shape_ , is a lot nicer than it used to be," he told her, speaking slowly, almost musingly. "Or, maybe I just never really noticed it before. I'm still learning, after all. It's not a bad process."

"Yeah, well," Shepard huffed, running a hand back through her bangs to linger awkwardly at the base of her ponytail. "I'm kind of starting to wish I _didn't_ have one. This thing is pushing up against _everything_ in there." Letting her hand fall back to her side again, she let out a short, sharp exhale, glancing over her shoulder, her brow furrowing as she tried to shift her armour more comfortably to one side, to little avail. There was no real way to tell him that the only reason her breasts were getting larger was because of her pregnancy, and that afterward they would likely return to the size they had been before. That was an issue for another time – the bigger issue she had to face now was the fact that her armour was pressing her breasts uncomfortably up against her chest, causing them to send shocks of pain through her ribcage every time she tried to move more than a little bit at a time. "Listen, Garrus," she suddenly spoke up again, causing him to look down at her once more, expectantly. Clasping her hands in front of her, she wrung them once, anxiously, before letting them drop back to her sides again and taking a deep, readying breath. "You've been with me longer than almost anybody else on my crew," she told him. "You believed in me when nobody else did. I just wanted to tell you… thanks. For that. For… everything you've done for me."

Garrus paused, seeming surprised by this show of sincere emotion. Then, offering a soft, fond chuckle, he shrugged his plated shoulders, folding his arms over his broad, armoured chest. "Well," he told her, teasingly. "You _did_ give me some incentive." Having said this, he paused, pensive, before turning his gaze towards the ground again and letting out a soft sigh, allowing the conversation to lapse into momentary, almost melancholy silence. Then, looking up towards Shepard again, he took a short, sharp breath, getting her attention, causing her to raise her brows as she looked up at him again, waiting for him to speak. "It's kind of amazing how everything's come full circle," he told her, speaking thoughtfully. "The Citadel's been the centre of galactic civilization, a Reaper trap… and my source of employment for a long time. And now it's our salvation for any chance at winning this war. This place, your home…" Turning to look out the broken window, he frowned faintly, letting out another short, soft, solemn breath. "Earth," he added, the name sounding almost finalistic as he spoke it. "It will either be remembered as the place we beat the Reapers… or it'll be a smoking ruin for the next cycle to wonder about."

He paused again, thinking this over, his expression unmoving as his mandibles tapped quietly against the sides of his chin. Then, looking back at Shepard again, he gave a soft grunt, fixing her with a knowing expression. "So I guess this is…"

"…Just like old times?" Shepard asked, finishing his sentence for him.

Garrus chuckled in response, letting out a soft, drawn-out huff of breath, followed by another, and then a thoughtful grunt, the weak laughter dying out as quickly as it had started. "Might be the last chance we get to say that," he admitted, regretfully.

Shepard frowned, glancing over her shoulder, before taking a step in towards him, leaning in to him to speak more privately. "What, you think we're gonna lose?" she asked, speaking in barely above a whisper, just loud enough for him to hear her.

At this, Garrus faltered, surprised, before quickly shaking his head. "No," he assured her, frankly. "I think we're about to kick the Reapers back into whatever black hole they crawled out of. Then we're going to retire somewhere warm and tropical and live off the royalties from the vids." Letting out another soft, slightly wearier chuckle, Garrus paused, looking down at the ground, the smile fading faintly from his face, as if he were having a harder time convincing himself than her that this might be an actual possibility for the both of them. "James told me there's an old saying, here on Earth…" he suddenly spoke up again, taking a deep breath in, before looking up at her again, his blue gaze sharp. "May you be in heaven half an hour before the Devil knows you're dead. Not sure if turian heaven is the same as yours, but if this thing goes sideways and we both end up there…" He smirked, the same puckish light flickering back into his eyes. "Meet me at the bar," he told her, determinedly. "I'm buying."

"We're a team, Garrus," Shepard reminded him, shaking her head as she crossed her arms over her chest, resolutely. "There's no Shepard without Vakarian. So you better remember to duck."

Garrus huffed, letting out a deep, amenable chuckle, before taking a step back and holding out a hand, tilting his head to one side, amused. "Sorry," he answered, smarmily. "Turians don't know how. But I'll improvise. And, Shepard…" Moving forward again, he closed the short distance between them, reaching down to take both of her hands in his and pulling them up dotingly close to his chest. "Forgive the insubordination," he told her, speaking quieter now, barely loud enough for her to hear him. "But your boyfriend has an order for you: come back alive. It'd be an awfully empty galaxy without you." Then, having said his piece, he leaned in towards her, pressing his mouth against her lips in another gentle, tender kiss. Shepard kissed him back just as softly, gradually letting go of his hands to slide her own hands across his neck, feeling his hands move around her waist, pulling her in towards him. She kissed him again, more fervently this time, not wanting to let go of the moment, pressing her body against him, wanting him, needing his touch all over her.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the moment of passion ended, with Shepard pulling away from him, pressing the back of her hand to her lips as she inwardly cursed her own mortal weakness. "Sorry," she told him, quietly. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"I do," Garrus answered, knowingly, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of her neck. "We haven't had sex in weeks." Then, relenting his playful torment of her, he offered her another soft chuckle, this one warmer and more encouraging than the last, before taking a deep breath in and tilting his head to one side again, curious. "By the way," he told her, causing her to look up at him again, attentive. "You were going to tell me something down in the gun battery after you got back from Cronos Station, but things… got in the way. Did you still have something you wanted to tell me, or am I too late to know now?"

Shepard faltered, taken aback, blinking a few times in surprise as she stared up at him, unsure what to say now that she was in the moment. She had had her entire speech completely mapped out, but now that she was here, now that he was asking to hear it, she found herself completely unprepared. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself, the toes of her heavy boots digging into the rocky soil as she allowed the breath to fill every inch of her, her shoulders rising a bit with the motion as she readied herself to tell him the truth. "I want to get married," she told him, resolutely, the words falling out of her mouth before she could stop them. "After this war is over… I want to settle down. Grow old together. I want to have a family. I want all of that… with you." Letting out the rest of her breath in a sharp, stunned huff, she hesitated, completely surprised with herself. Then, looking up at Garrus again, she realized that he looked just as surprised as she did by her unexpected announcement, though admittedly not unpleasantly so. He blinked a few times, taken aback, his mandibles hovering by his chin, quivering, as if expecting the other shoe to drop and for all of this to have been some kind of bizarre, leading joke, but Shepard shook her head, holding up her hands to keep him from speaking, letting her continue.

"I know this sounds totally… _totally_ unlike me," she told him.

"Yes," Garrus admitted, frowning a bit.

"Because it is," Shepard answered, truthfully, letting her hands drop back to her sides again. "I've never been this kind of person, _never_. All my life, none of that… love, marriage, happily ever after nonsense… none of it ever appealed to me. But that was before I met you." She breathed heavily, her own honest enthusiasm wearing her out, but she hardly seemed to notice as she wet her lips, looking up at him earnestly and indicating herself with both hands. "Before I met you, I _hated_ the idea of having someone love me," she told him, frankly. "It was scary. It was responsibility I wasn't ready to take on. But I was wrong, I was _so_ wrong, and you showed me what having someone love you can actually be like." Dropping her hands from her breastplate, she let them hover awkwardly at her sides, barely able to keep her focus on him as her mind raced, her thoughts fighting to come forward, rushing to her lips faster than she could figure out how to say them. "It doesn't have to be all love songs and sappy… crap," she added, shaking her head, unable to keep a small, revealing smile from her face. "Sometimes it's just someone who's there when you need them to be. Your best friend. Sometimes that's all love has to be."

She could feel herself physically vibrating with adrenaline now, her heart pumping loudly in her ears as she reached up a hand, running it back through her hair, not even sure what she was doing with herself anymore. "I hate this war," she told him, resolutely. "I hate what it's turned us into. Machines, we're like—machines. I don't want that. I don't want this to become my life. I don't want to be stuck here forever, stuck in this same… endless loop, over and over, war after war after war."

"Are you okay, Shepard?" Garrus asked, reaching out a worrying hand to rest on her shoulder, steadying her. "You're sounding a bit… manic."

"I'm _not_ manic," Shepard told him, firmly, taking his hand from her shoulder to hold it between her own two hands, looking up determinedly into his face, meeting his gaze. "I'm perfectly fine. I just finally know what I want." Pulling his hand forward, she pressed it flat to her chest, holding it in place with both of her hands, embracing it, holding it close. "I want to marry you, Garrus Vakarian," she told him, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a dizzying rush of breath. " _That's_ what I want. I want to be sickeningly domestic, doing nothing all day in a house on a beach somewhere, just like you said. Away from it all with too many dogs and a tank full of fish neither of us ever seems to remember to feed…" Running out of breath, she stopped, breathing heavily, staring at him for another long moment, before finally clearing her throat, regaining her composure, and taking another deep inhale, allowing her mind to catch up with her own enthusiasm. "I just want to _be_ with you when it's all over, Garrus," she told him, quieter now, having all but worn herself out. "I want to be your wife. I want to have your baby. I want all of that, all the… stupid, ridiculous, wishy-washy crap we promised ourselves we'd never do. I want to do it all. With you."

"Get married?" Garrus repeated, an awkward, surprised half-breath catching in his throat as he said it. "Have my baby? Shepard, I… that's…" He stopped, trailing off, his free hand curling into an awkward ball as he pressed it to the side of his armoured leg, unsure what he wanted to say. Then, his posture relaxing a bit, he let out a heavy sigh of exasperated surrender. "I was trying to think of something romantic to say," he admitted, sheepishly. "But really all I wanted to tell you was that I want all of that, too. Everything you mentioned, all of those things. It all sounds… really nice, to me."

Smiling up at him, Shepard pulled his hand away from her breastplate, pressed it gently to the side of her face instead and nestling her cheek into his palm. "Good," she told him, evenly. "Then we're in agreement."

"Absolutely," Garrus answered, smiling in return. "And maybe, once we're married… we can even find out what a turian-human baby looks like." Chuckling fondly at his own impossible joke, he leaned in towards her, nuzzling her nose with his and purring gently, seeming to completely miss the look of pained, stifled discomfort on her face at the ill-timed quip. Then, bringing her hand up to his mouth, he kissed it, before letting it drop back down again and drawing his rifle from the maglock at his back, indicating to the soldier in the cot with his gun. "Come on," he told him. "We should head out soon or Hammer's gonna leave without us." Then, turning his attention back to Shepard, he reached out a hand, giving her ponytail a fond flick, before pulling her in towards him and giving her a gentle kiss on the head. "Be careful out there, Shepard," he told her, quietly.

"I will," Shepard assured him, nodding in return, trying not to look as disconcerted as she felt. "And… you too, Garrus. Come back safe." Taking a step back, she allowed the soldier from the cot to pass by her, watching as the two began towards the door at the far end of the room. Then, letting out a heavy sigh, she shook her head, turning on her heel, and started back towards the main FOB.

* * *

The final meeting to decide the plan of attack against the Reapers was a much smaller gathering than Shepard had anticipated, with barely twenty people in attendance, including herself and Anderson. Though most of the military personnel were people she did not recognize, she was glad to see Zabaleta in attendance, hovering near Anderson's elbow, watching the meeting unfold with rapt attention. Only a few of Shepard's crew had been called in to attend – at the far end of the table, EDI stood meditatively over a small, blue hologram of an orb, presumably a rough diagram of Earth, while Tali stood just behind Shepard to her right, peering over the Commander's shoulder, ready to give quarian fleet input if needed. A crude holo-map of the surrounding area had been spread out in front of the gathered party on a low, broad table, the blue peaks and valleys illuminating their faces as they bent over it, their expressions solemn, lips drawn into hard, pensive lines.

"We fought hard to get here, but now the toughest part of our mission begins," Anderson began, looking around at the gathered faces, taking stock of his audience. "We've got to drive right through the heart of Reaper-controlled territory, break past their defences, and get to that beam."

"What kind of defences?" Shepard asked, quickly.

"The entire area is crawling with Reaper forces," Anderson told her, his frown deepening as he began to scroll the diagram to one side, showing a long stretch of coverless ground in front of the main beam. "But our biggest concern is the Destroyer protecting the beam, itself." As he said this, a bright-red construct of the Reaper Destroyer popped up on the map, flickering a few times before solidifying in place, causing several of the gathered soldiers to frown at the sight of it.

"Can we bring in air support to deal with it?" Zabaleta asked then, causing both Anderson and Shepard to look his way.

"Negative," Anderson answered, shaking his head, before returning his attention to the diagram of the battlefield. "Some kind of interference… we'll have to take it out from the ground." Passing a hand over the diagram again, he dragged the landscape until it stopped on a crude representation of the area around their base. "Now, they've cut a swath of no-man's land through the city," he went on, pointing to the rugged wasteland denoted by the bare-bones hologram. "We'll have to cross that first. There'll be some limited shelter on the other side but expect heavy ground resistance." Scrolling the map forward again, he stopped on a spot just across the shelterless battleground from where they knew the Destroyer to be. "We need to get our tanks to here," he told them, tapping the map. "If we can get in close enough, we've got a shot at taking that thing out."

"How much of a shot?" Zabaleta asked, warily.

Anderson sighed, taking a step back from the hologram, before looking up at Zabaleta and raising his bushy brows, solemn. "They know we're coming," he told him, frankly. "This will be a one-way trip for many of us. But there can be no retreat, no stepping back. We move forward at all costs. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," Shepard answered, ardently, offering him a reverent, militaristic salute.

Anderson nodded, bolstered by the show of enthusiasm. "Johnson, Coates," he instructed, shortly, looking up at the nearest attentive soldiers. "You two will coordinate the artillery units. Shepard, Zabaleta… I'm sending you right up the gut where the resistance is heaviest. Support the tanks the best you can, but stay alive. I need you for the final push to the beam." Zabaleta nodded, understanding, before turning and starting towards the weapons cache along with the rest of the gathered attendants, leaving Shepard and Anderson standing alone in front of the holo-map. Anderson took a deep breath in, solemn and weary, before moving around the edge of the table to stand beside Shepard, looking out over the FOB. "I'll give you a minute with your squad," he told her, speaking in a low voice, making sure only she could hear him. "Pick your team well." Then, turning to look at her again, he offered her an encouraging slap on the back, smiling down at her, fondly, before giving one last, assuring nod and turning to join Coates and Johnson at the forefront near the heavy weaponry.

Watching him walk away, Shepard frowned, warily, making sure he was not looking back towards her before shifting her breastplate back into place from where it had been knocked askew. Then, turning away from the table with the holo-map, she started back through the FOB, indicating for EDI to follow along with her. "Send out a message to the Normandy crew," she told her, her fingers tapping anxiously against the butt of her Carnifex as she passed through an open doorway into a wide, open room. "Tell them to meet me here. I want to talk to everyone. Tell them it's important."

"Shall I inform them of what you wish to talk about, Shepard?" EDI asked, tucking her hands dutifully behind her back as she came to stand in front of a desk at the front of the room, watching as Shepard moved around it, leaning tiredly against the sleek metal and giving her feet a moment's rest.

"I think they'll be able to figure it out," Shepard told her, honestly. "Just tell them to meet me here as soon as possible. I don't want any of them heading out into the fight before I've had a chance to talk to them."

"Understood," EDI acknowledged, before turning away from Shepard, beginning to relay the silent message.

It took barely fifteen minutes for every present crewmember to respond to the request for assembly, and Shepard could barely keep herself from swelling with pride as she looked out over her gathered party. Her gaze moved slowly from one end of the room to the other, surveying all of her gathered crew, her attention moving lovingly over each teammate in turn, meeting their eyes, reassuring them. She lingered a moment longer on Garrus, before moving on to Liara, lingering there as well, and then to Javik, who stared back evenly, his four yellow eyes fixed on her, unblinking. Taking a deep breath, Shepard stood straight from the desk, squaring her posture, preparing to address her gathered companions. "This war has brought us pain and suffering… and loss," she began, her speech halting a bit, not quite sure where she wanted to go with her address just yet. "But it's also brought us together. As soldiers, allies… friends." She paused, feeling the weight of the room seem to lift a bit from her shoulders at the word, as if the reassurance that they were more than just fellow men in arms had brought out a collective, inaudible sigh of relief from the party. The edges of her lips curved up a bit at the sensation, her hand curling into a determined fist against the side of her leg as she took a step out from behind her table, starting to hesitantly pace in front of her crew, feeling their eager eyes on her, awaiting her next reassuring words.

"This bond that ties us together is something the Reapers will never understand," she went on, more assuredly this time. "It's more powerful than any weapon. Stronger than any ship. It can't be taken or destroyed." Looking over towards Tali, she observed the quarian for a moment, watching as she tucked her hands comfortably across her ribcage, offering Shepard an assuring nod. Shepard smiled, nodding in return, before turning away from her again, starting to pace more enthusiastically. "The next few hours will decide the fate of everyone in the galaxy," she went on, her words ringing solemn and unwavering through the rubbled halls of the FOB. "Every mother, every son… every unborn child." At this, she paused, her words trailing off sharply, feeling a knot moving up to her throat, choking her, making it difficult to continue. She could feel every pair of eyes trained on her, knowingly, Javik, Liara, Miranda, Kasumi, EDI, Zaeed, all of them holding their breath, waiting for her to say something, to blow everything she had worked so hard to keep secret all these months leading up to this.

Wiping her stinging eyes with the palm of her armoured hand, Shepard inhaled, sharply, clearing her throat, her brow furrowing in resolve as she lifted her chin, proudly, determinedly, preparing to go on. "They're trusting you," she told them, trying her hardest to keep her voice from shaking. "Depending on _you_ to win them their future. A future free from the threat of the Reapers." Glancing over towards Liara, she watched as her painted brow furrowed in concern, her arms crossing over her chest as she stood at rapt, worried attention, holding onto Shepard's every word. "But take heart," Shepard went on, indomitably, turning her attention away from Liara again. "Look around you. You're not in this fight alone. We face our enemy _together_. And together, we _will_ defeat them." Then, having finished her rousing speech, she turned to face her team head-on, standing at firm, unwavering attention and letting out the rest of her anxious breath in a deep, relieved exhale.

A moment of silence followed this speech, as if everyone expected Shepard to continue on for another few minutes, the quietude ringing, taut and decisive, so razor-thin she felt she could have heard a pin drop over the muffled sounds of the tanks outside. Then, almost all at once, the Normandy team erupted in a bevy of overlapping noises, happy, enthused, and determined voices, all applauding their stalwart leader and cheering their projected victory. Shepard smiled at the sound, unable to help herself, feeling her face light up warm and hopeful as her entire team cheered for their own endurance. Then, looking up, the smile faded from her face a bit as she spotted Anderson standing at the back of the room, his arms crossed thoughtfully over his ribcage, his brow furrowed faintly as he listened to her speak, his expression difficult to read, somewhere between admiration and solemnity. Breaking away from the rest of the group, she started to move towards him, but paused when she reached the edge of the gathered party, still a few yards from where he stood. Anderson uncrossed his arms as he saw her approaching, instead bowing his head, warily, and beckoning for her to come in closer.

"Shepard," he called her, his voice low, barely loud enough for her to hear. "Come here. I need to talk to you about something." Shepard frowned, now concerned, but quickly did as she was told, making her way over to where he stood. Glancing once over his shoulder, Anderson took a deep breath, before leaning in towards her, speaking just loud enough for her to hear him. "Shepard, there's been a change of plans," he told her, his voice solemn. "You're not going to be going in with the ground teams after all. I've become privy to some… new information, thanks to one of the members of your squad. They think it would be beneficial for you to hold back from attacking the Reaper ground forces with the support units… or, ideally, at all."

At this news, Shepard blanched, feeling a sickening, hot and cold chill run the length of her body at the thought of who might have told Anderson on her as she tried her hardest to stay impassive, keeping her expression blank, her posture fixed. "Who gave you this new information, Sir?" she asked, speaking in a low voice, faking calm.

"It's not important," Anderson told her, shaking his head. "What _is_ important is that you'll now be going in with a small specialized team. I'm still going to be participating in the initial ground push, but I'll try to join you if I can once we reach the beam." Activating his omni-tool, he pulled up a small, crude hologram map showing a basic outline of the battlefield, taking a step closer to her so she could see. "The new plan is for us to cut a path through the Reapers, and for you and this team to come in after us in a small, armoured unit," he explained, tracing the path between the FOB and the tractor beam with his finger, causing the trail to light up bright white-yellow. "That way we don't have to risk losing our best soldiers in the initial push. Once we get you close enough to the beam, you'll activate the missiles and take out the Destroyer. From there you'll have to continue on foot, since the beam won't support a vehicle as heavy as one of our tanks… but if we can clean enough of a path, it shouldn't be too hard to make the last stretch without additional cover."

Collapsing his omni-tool again, he turned to look at her, his expression solemn. "Be careful out there, Shepard," he told her. "Even with this added protection, there's no guarantee something won't go wrong. We've never faced this kind of enemy before. Stay vigilant. Don't let your guard down."

"Yes, Sir," Shepard consented, offering him an assuring salute. Anderson nodded, satisfied with her answer, before turning away again and starting off in the direction of the waiting tanks. Letting her hand drop back to her side, Shepard frowned, still a bit confused, before turning to glance back towards her party, trying to figure out which one of them might have come to Anderson requesting she be pulled from the heat of the initial push. Her first thought was that it was likely Miranda, or if not Miranda, Liara, but neither seemed to be paying any attention to her, instead conversing in low voices with other members of the crew, trying to figure out which ones of them would be assigned to which units where they could do the most good. The only crewmember who did not seem preoccupied with plans for the upcoming battle was Javik, who stood apart from the rest of the group, his weapon in hand, staring thoughtfully out one of the broken windows into the war-torn street beyond. Moving to stand beside him at the window, Shepard stared into the street as well, crossing her arms over her chest and taking in a deep breath, before letting it out in a long, knowing sigh.

"Thank you," she told him, quietly, causing him to glance down towards her, fleetingly, before returning his attention to the ravaged street outside, watching as a heavy tank rolled by the window, broken glass crunching beneath its reinforced tires.

"Do not thank me," Javik informed her, shaking his head. "All I did was inform the Admiral that his battle plan was flawed. I do not wish to die in this fight against the Reapers. It would do my peoples' legacy a great disservice."

"But you didn't tell him I was…?" Shepard asked, glancing up towards him, warily. She hesitated, wavering a bit, before turning her attention towards the window again. "You know."

Javik paused, frowning a bit, his fingers tightening around his weapon as he drew in a deep, thin breath at the question. "No," he finally answered, frankly. "I told him it was foolish to risk his best soldiers in a bid for traction. If he wanted the best results, he would put his ground teams out first, and allow the specialized units to pass through unhindered. That way they could be allowed to perform their duties unimpeded when they reached the real threat." Letting out a soft, unimpressed snort then, his stalwart frown deepened, his fingers tapping absentmindedly against the line of his gun as he stared out towards the war-torn wasteland. "Wasting the potential of elite combatants on grunt work is foolish," he added, matter-of-factly. "It has nothing to do with you, Commander."

Shepard paused, taken aback, surprised by this show of compassion, however cold and stoic he was pretending to be to cover it. Then, reaching forward towards him, she took hold of his armoured cowl, moving up onto her toes as she pulled him down to press a quick kiss on his cheek. Javik stiffened, his yellow eyes growing wide, his greenish skin turning instantly black-red with a rush of blood as he turned to look at her, startled, but Shepard only smiled in response, folding her arms over her chest as she offered a short, knowing chuckle. "You're a good guy, Javik," she told him, fondly.

"I am a good soldier," Javik corrected, shaking his head again as he strove to regain some semblance of his original composure. "Nothing more."

* * *

The armoured tank hummed as it rumbled across the barren, war-torn landscape, its heavy tracks crunching over fallen Reaper troop corpses as it bumped along the no man's land towards the waiting Citadel beam. The cramped, solemn, stifled silence that had fallen over the specialized unit made the ride in the tank feel almost like a packed, sweaty submarine, with the only thing breaking the uncomfortable stillness the occasional sound of one of the soldiers clearing their throats or coughing. Shepard dug her fingers past the skin-tight neck of her undersuit, sliding them across her clammy skin, hoping to promote some airflow in the stuffiness of the crowded tank, but, finding no cool air to relieve her, she sighed, anxious, dropping her hand back to her lap and turning her attention instead towards the rudimentary digital area map stationed near the front of the tank. Zabaleta looked up at her at the sound, staring intently at her from across the cramped carriage, pressing his knees together to give hers a bit more room as he fiddled surreptitiously with the little silver '2' still hanging from his belt.

"Nervous, Commander?" he asked her, quietly, causing her to look up at him, surprised.

Shepard sighed again at the earnest question, shrugging one armoured shoulder as her hand came to rest on the butt of the Carnifex at her belt. "Antsy, more like it," she answered, honestly. "I just can't help the sinking feeling that something bad is going to happen."

"Isn't that always the way it is?" Zabaleta joked, raising one shaggy brow. No sooner had the words left his mouth when the sound of their in-ear radios crackled into life, causing him to look away from her as frantic, muffled gunfire began to filter in over the comm. The sound of heavy breathing could be heard from the other end as whoever was trying to contact them panted loudly in their ears, trying to catch her breath enough to speak.

"They're coming in behind us!" the voice of an asari commando suddenly shouted over the connection, frantic. "They're coming from everywhere! They're going for the tanks!"

"Protect the tanks at all cost!" Zabaleta insisted, jamming his fingers into his in-ear comm. "Without Shepard and the missiles we've got no chance!" Then, looking up at Shepard again, he frowned, intent, letting out a heavy huff as he reached back to his maglock, pulling out his Marauder and holding it at the ready. "So much for nothing going wrong," he told her, solemnly. "No matter what happens, you need to stay with these missiles, Commander. Even if we lose everyone else, we need you and the missiles to stay safe."

"Hopefully it doesn't come to that," Shepard returned, frowning back, worried.

"All units, open fire!" the asari commando suddenly shouted over the comm, causing Shepard to flinch at the sharp sound in her ear. No sooner had the command reached them when a loud explosion rocked the tank from outside, rattling the inside crew around and causing them reach for the nearest handle to steady themselves. The ground rumbled under the sturdy tracks, the sound of massive footfalls Shepard had to assume belonged to the Destroyer thundering in the near distance, coming closer. "Where's our fire support?!" the asari commando insisted, her voice breaking up over the radio connection. "We need reinforcements on the—" But the connection fizzled out before the rest of her message could come through, followed almost immediately by the loud, whining sound of the Destroyer's targeting laser firing up. The ground shook again as the laser struck a nearby building, the tank vibrating beneath them as the beam pushed forward across the war-torn ground, decimating everything in its wake and kicking up rocks and debris the size of small shuttlecars.

The muffled sound of heavy fire could still be heard coming from outside the tank, the turrets shelling off round after round, but the assault continued for barely five minutes before the deluge of gunfire suddenly stopped. Through the eerie, agitated silence, the creaking, mechanical sound of the Destroyer could be heard continuing to move forward towards them, its footfalls resonating ominously through the reinforced walls of the tank. "Commander, we tried to hold them off as best we could," the asari commando's voice suddenly sounded in Shepard's ear again, panicked, out of breath. "But they destroyed our trucks, overwhelmed our position… your left flank is gone. They're headed your way. I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Hang in there, soldier," Shepard assured her, pressing her fingers to her in-ear comm. Then, turning to face the rest of the wide-eyed crew, she indicated towards the digital map at the front of the tank, where a series of red dots could be seen closing in on the blue representation of the vehicle. "Head's up, we got more incoming," she informed them, curtly. "There's nothing covering our left flank, so our choices are either we get out and fight, or open missile fire on the Destroyer and pray."

"I've never been much of a religious man, myself," Zabaleta returned, letting out a low, gruff chuckle, before jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the battlefield. "Me and the boys will hold your flank, Shepard. You just focus on taking out that Destroyer and getting to the beam." No sooner had the words left his mouth when the sound of the Destroyer foghorn reached their ears, causing the ground to rumble beneath the wheels of the tank as they reached for their ears, trying to keep their teeth from vibrating inside their heads at the thunderous noise. Shepard's in-ear radio crackled, the transmission garbled by the disruption, until she quickly pressed her fingers to her ear, steadying the receiver to allow the message to come through.

"Commander, the Reaper is still too close to the beam for missiles to have any effect," EDI warned over the connection, causing Shepard to look up sharply, as if she might be able to see the Destroyer through the walls of the tank. "While it remains in close contact with the beam, there is interference surrounding it which I cannot override, even with the assistance of the Normandy's targeting systems."

"And we only have two missiles," Shepard conceded, frowning back over at the tracking screen.

"You will need to allow the Reaper to move out of the beam's influence," EDI instructed, straightforwardly. "Only then will you be able to get a clear shot."

Looking up at Shepard again at this stark directive, Zabaleta huffed, sniffing, bringing up his free hand to wipe at the trickle of blood that had begun to seep from his nose with the back of his armoured wrist. "Just focus on keeping the missiles safe, Commander," he told her, determinedly. "We'll try to draw the Reaper out of the influence of the beam so you can take that shot. These two missiles are our Hail Mary… if we screw this up, we're dead."

"I thought you said you weren't religious, Zabaleta," Shepard told him, looking up at him with a wary smirk.

Zabaleta hesitated, a bit surprised, before offering a thin, forced chuckle in return. "Yeah, well," he answered, pushing the heat sink into his Marauder, causing the weapon to whine in his lap as it began to heat up. "If we make it through this alive, I might just have to start going to church."

* * *

The fight against the Destroyer had been nothing like Anderson had predicted. His course of action had called for a quick, clean cut, a swift and brutal path fought through the Reaper forces to deliver one final calculated, killing stroke to the Destroyer guard dog, but, as with most things involving the Reapers, nothing had gone the way they had expected it to go. Shepard knew full well that Reapers could not be predicted, and that even the best-laid plans were bound to go wrong in one way or another, but even so she could not help but feel disheartened by the sheer number of casualties laid to the wayside in the push to get close enough to the Destroyer to even be able to use the missiles. The first missile had done almost nothing, meandering off-course around one side of the Reaper to explode against its tough metal casing, staggering it momentarily before the giant quickly regained its footing and started moving forward again. The ground shook ominously under the tank as the Destroyer sent out a beam of destruction, obliterating everything in its wake, but Shepard kept her aim steady, her expression set, as she lined up the final missile, input the launch codes, and took the shot.

The second missile stayed true to its course, striking a crippling blow as it collided directly with the Destroyer's targeting eye, causing the creature to stumble to one side, thrown completely off-guard. Realizing it had been injured, the Destroyer had made an attempt to close its shell around the missile in an effort to shield itself from some measure of the blast, but that had only managed to make the damage that much worse. After the initial impact, it had been simply a show of force to take the Destroyer down the rest of the way, with every available unit firing on the now-blind Reaper, until they finally managed to send it crashing heavily to the ground, the nearest city blocks trembling under its enormous, conquered weight.

The dust had still not yet settled by the time a bevy of large artillery tanks came rolling over the crest of the rubble-ridden hill, causing Shepard to look up from where she leaned against the missile courier tank, watching as they rumbled to a stop several yards from where she stood. The first men out of the tank were infantry, soldiers carrying guns like hers, but they were quickly followed by a number of familiar faces, including some she recognized from aboard the Normandy. Anderson was the last to exit, heaving himself up and over the lip of the tank before dropping heavily over the ladder on the side, seeming almost out of breath as he began to move towards the specialized troops across the war-torn tundra. "Shepard!" he called, raising a hand to get her attention. "Over here!" Pushing herself unsteadily to her feet, Shepard quickly gained her balance against the edge of the tank before starting towards Anderson over the rubble. In return, Anderson picked up his pace a bit, jogging over until he came to stand in front of her, giving her a quick, inclusive once-over. "Thank god you made it," he told her, out of breath. "I was starting to worry for a while there."

In response, Shepard shrugged, making a face. "It didn't look good," she admitted, frankly, glancing quickly back towards the tank she had just come from before returning her attention to Anderson again.

Anderson nodded, understanding, reaching out a hand to clasp her shoulder reassuringly. Then, moving past her, he took a few steps towards the site of the wreckage, looking up at the towering pile of twisted metal that had once been the Destroyer. "It gets worse," he told her, regretfully, his brow furrowing into a hard line.

Shepard frowned at this assertion, letting out a sigh in return, crossing her arms wearily across her chest as she joined him in looking over the carnage. "Of course it does," she answered, darkly.

Anderson heaved a heavy breath, his scuffed medals glinting in the wan light coming from the beam, before turning his attention away from the Destroyer again and regarding Shepard with hard, furrowed brows. "Hackett just reported in," he informed her, solemnly. "Several Sovereign-class Reapers, including Harbinger, have broken off from the battle with Sword. They're headed here."

"Harbinger?" Shepard repeated, turning to look at him, the name poisonous on her tongue.

Anderson nodded in return, all but ignoring her reaction to the mention of her old nemesis. "It's an opportunity for Hackett to get the Crucible in place," he added, rationally. "But we have to get a team on board the Citadel to open those arms _now_."

"We still don't even know what we'll find when we get to the Citadel," Zabaleta put in, realistically, coming to stand behind them at the wreckage, causing both Shepard and Anderson to look his way. Half his face was enflamed and bloody, one of his eyes so bruised it had swollen shut, and when he spoke Shepard could see that one of his teeth had been chipped in half, but he hardly even seemed to notice.

Turning her attention back towards Anderson again, Shepard's frown deepened, her hand moving to rest subconsciously against the butt of the Carnifex at her belt. "Then that's our job," she told Zabaleta, not bothering to look towards him as she spoke. "Find out what we're up against."

"All right," Anderson agreed, sounding less than enthused about the idea. "Saddle up, everybody." Then, turning away from the two of them, he began back towards the larger tank he had arrived in, picking his way over the blackened rubble as he approached one of the soldiers standing guard next to the vehicle. "Get me Admiral Hackett," Anderson instructed, and in return the young man nodded, turning back towards the tank and scaling the ladder built into the side before dropping down into the driver's hub. Moving around to the open door at the side of the tank, Anderson stepped up into it, sliding across to the furthest seat down on the bench built into the side before waving a hand to indicate for Shepard, Zabaleta, and what was left of their small specialized crew to climb in behind him. The fit was difficult, but they managed to close the door securely behind them, leaving only Vega with nowhere to sit as the vehicle rumbled into life again, rattling and bouncing along the ground as it headed towards its final destination.

"It's now or never, Admiral," Anderson reported into his in-ear comm, causing Shepard to turn to look up at him, attentive. "We're going in."

"Acknowledged," Hackett returned, the response coming in over all of their headsets. "I'll send the word." A pause followed, taut and restless, broken only by the rumbling of the tank as it climbed over a tall pile of rubble, causing all its passengers to reach for the first available outcropping, steadying themselves as they waited for Hackett to go on. "All ships, this is Admiral Hackett," Hackett's stern drawl finally sounded over their in-ear comms again. "The Crucible is on the move. I repeat, the Crucible is on the move. Protect it at all costs." Another bump in the rocky terrain caused Shepard to instinctively cover her stomach, but she quickly corrected herself with a soft cough, instead shifting in her seat to get a better grip of a handle built into the side of the tank. No one seemed to notice, as they were all staring at the floor of the tank, listening intently to their in-ear radios. "Everyone, _this is it_ ," Hackett's voice continued, firmer this time. "Any available squadrons, delay those Reapers leaving the battle. We've got to give Hammer more time."

Anderson's brow furrowed as he listened to Hackett's instructions, folding his hands intently in front of him and wringing them gently for a moment until the transmission finally ended. Then, sitting straight again, he took a deep breath, his hands moving to rest instead on either of his knees as he turned to address his gathered team. "From here on in it's a straight shot to the beam," he told them, his voice frank and solemn.

"A straight shot with Reapers trying to crush us along the way," Zabaleta pointed out, attempting a bit of humour, but Anderson did not laugh at the weak joke, instead turning to look at him, his expression stern.

"We just need to get a handful of troops through," Anderson told him, resolutely.

"That all?" Zabaleta returned, his crooked smile thin.

Anderson sighed, weary, before turning to look away from him again. "We knew this was going to be a gamble at best," he admitted, turning his dark gaze up towards Shepard then.

Shepard nodded in response, offering him a solemn, reassuring expression. "Can't think of anyone else I'd rather do this with," she answered, before turning to look over the rest of the crew, spreading the sentiment to the rest of them as well. From across the carriage, Ashley nodded, appreciative, before getting up from her seat to take hold of one of the overhead handlebars, preparing to move out at the first indication.

"I'm honoured to be part of your team, Ma'am," Ashley told her, offering her a warm, grateful smile.

No sooner had these words passed her lips when Zabaleta suddenly frowned, getting their attention, his stern gaze dropping to the floor as he reached up to press two fingers into his in-ear comm. He paused, listening to the report from the other end, before nodding and turning his attention up towards the gathered group in the tank once more. "We're in sight of the target," he reported, getting to his feet, his fingers curling anxiously around the edge of his gun.

Anderson sucked in a deep, sharp breath at the news, his tired posture straightening as he stood with the rest of the specialized crew, his bushy brow furrowing in anticipation as his dark eyes moved over each combatant in turn. "All right, everyone," he told them, solemnly. "This is it. This—" But before he could finish, the tank gave a violent jolt, a loud _bang_ and the angry shriek of metal on metal reaching their ears as the tracks rocked forcibly off the uneven ground. The impact of the tank against whatever it had collided with sent the inhabitants of the carriage flying, and before any of them could right themselves, the damage alarm began to blare loudly, the door mechanism giving a sharp hiss as the egress began to crack weakly open. The door had barely lifted halfway up before the mechanism suddenly caught, the electronic hinges whirring loudly as they attempted to open the exit wider, causing the door to let off a stream of angry grey smoke as the gears ground uselessly against one another.

Sliding down between the edge of the tank and the bottom of the door, Shepard managed to squeeze out of the confined space, quickly righting herself before taking a second to catch her breath and surveying the damage done. She could feel the heat of a fire coming from somewhere nearby, and when she turned, she realized that the thing that was burning was the engine of the tank, itself. The entire front end of the vehicle had been decimated, buried by a pile of rubble and rock, with a deep, blackened gouge-mark marring the front half of the transport, welding the driver's hub almost completely shut. She could hear the struggling driver banging frantically against the walls of his confinement, and she clenched her hand frustratedly at her side, swearing quietly to herself as she realized that someone would have to save the driver, and that it would likely have to be her. Climbing carefully up the still-hot footholds on the side of the tank, she reached the top, grabbing hold of the half-melted wheel, and began to turn it with all her might, letting out a shout of pained effort as it groaned and creaked under her influence. Even with the additional strength of her rebuild, it took almost everything she had to get the wheel to start to turn, and by the time it had loosened enough for the driver to push it from the other side, she could barely feel her hands and arms.

Looking down at her stinging hands, Shepard realized to her dismay that the reinforced weavework on her armoured gloves had melted with the lingering heat from whatever had soldered the driver's hub shut, and she quickly wiped them against her breastplate before lowering herself back down to the ground at the side of the vehicle. She had only a moment to gather her wits before she found her attention drawn back to the tank, watching as the first few soldiers crawled their way out of the gap between the door and the floor, and she quickly made her way over to the vehicle to help those still left inside. Anderson and Vega both required a bit of assistance to slip their way out of the sliver of door space, but eventually every member of the crew had found their way out of the tank and onto the solid battlefield, checking themselves over to make sure nothing had been left behind in the wreckage. Turning away from the carnage of the tank, Shepard quickly checked her waist, making sure none of her ammo belts had gotten caught on the edge of the door and fallen off while she had been escaping. Then, satisfied she had made it out of the tank in one piece, she looked up again towards the landscape ahead, barely able to help but feel some small, silent measure of ironic relief that she had not been one of the people who had needed assistance to get out of the tank.

Shepard barely noticed as Anderson came to stand beside her on the rocky crest of the war-torn hill, propping his burned and bloodied hands against his hips as he looked out over the valley below. "Shit," he swore, darkly, causing Shepard to glance over at him, surprised. Wiping his bloodied nose with the back of his forearm, Anderson sniffed, letting out a deep, leery breath, before turning his attention up towards the Citadel beam in the near distance, the beacon so close to where they stood that they could almost hear its low, pulsating hum. Just then, an enormous, ear-splitting rumbling sound began to vibrate the air around them, causing both Shepard and Anderson to reach up to cover their ears, and, as Shepard watched, a massive form began to descend out of the fog and smoke from just behind the Citadel beam. The white-blue light from the beacon glinted over its horrifically familiar face as its four yellow eyes blazed open, locking them angrily in its sights. Harbinger thrummed as it stared them down, self-satisfied, straightening to its full, colossal height before letting out a long, low foghorn sound, the noise so deafeningly loud that Shepard could feel her ribcage vibrating inside her chest.

"We gotta move!" Anderson insisted, taking one hand away from his ear to grab hold of the gun at his belt. Taking her hands from her head as well, Shepard followed Anderson's suit, pulling the Carnifex from her belt and dropping the hammer, listening as the gun began to whine into heated life.

"Come on!" Shepard called, turning back towards the rest of the specialized unit, her voice barely audible over the thrum of the Reaper as she beckoned them forward with a broad, sweeping gesture.

"Hammer squads, go, go, go!" Anderson instructed, signalling forward towards the beam. Then, reaching out towards Shepard again, he grabbed hold of her arm, pulling her back, causing to look over at him with wide-eyed surprise. "Not you, Shepard," he told her, still shouting to be heard over the noise of the Reaper. "You hold back and run in their shadows. If Harbinger takes anyone out, it'll be the people in front of you. That'll give you the best chance of reaching the beam alive." Shepard frowned, taken aback, opening her mouth to object, but Anderson quickly holstered his gun again, holding up his now-free hand to stop her, shaking his head before regarding her with a grave, frank expression. "They knew what they were signing up for when they agreed to do this suicide run," he told her, letting his hand drop back to his side. "Everyone knows the most important thing right now is getting someone to that beacon. As far as everyone is concerned, that someone should be you. This is the way it has to be, Shepard. The galaxy depends on it."

"I was never big on necessary sacrifice," Shepard informed him, grimly, her grip tightening on her weapon as she turned her attention towards the waiting battlefield.

"Neither was I," Anderson agreed, letting out a heavy, wary sigh. "But these are unprecedented circumstances. It's now or never, Shepard – let's go!" Then, drawing his Carnifex from his belt again, he turned, sprinting into the fray behind the tanks and heavily-armed cavalry and taking out a Husk that was attempting to run up on him from Hammer squad's left flank.

Taking a deep breath, Shepard pulled her weapon in towards her chest, watching Anderson for another moment longer before turning to make a quick sweep of the battlefield, determining the most secure route to the beacon. Deciding on a course of action, she slid down the rocky hillside towards the valley below, making a dash for cover behind the nearest live tank and watching as another blast from Harbinger struck the ground a few yards to her right, sending several soldiers flying. She could not help but notice how much louder the thrum of the Reaper was in the open ravine, the sloped sides of the chasm amplifying the deep bass hum, making the resulting cacophony almost deafening. Out of the corner of her eye, Shepard watched as Vega grabbed hold of Ashley, pulling her behind a large rock outcropping to shield them both from the path of Harbinger's destructive beam as it drove a deep cratered line through the solid battleground. Taking heart that her companions were still alive, Shepard dashed from the safety of one tank to the shadow of a group of soldiers, doing her best to remain at the back of the group as she looked for the next opportunity.

The Citadel beacon was barely yards away now, but Shepard could already feel herself starting to wane. The sound of Harbinger's Reaper drone had grown so loud in her ears that she could barely hear the rumbling of the tank directly behind her, and the smell of mud and carnage intermingled dizzyingly in her nose, causing her to feel almost lightheaded as she pressed further onward towards the beam. She could feel her stomach twist in knots as she watched another tank flipped with disturbing ease by the strength of Harbinger's blast, this one much closer to her than the last, and her grip on her weapon had grown so tight she could feel the tips of her fingers growing numb. Her legs felt weak and sore beneath her as she pushed herself even harder forward, her heart pounding in her chest, her lungs burning, wheezing, threatening to burst as she struggled to even keep up with the rest of the soldiers. She had lost track of Anderson and Zabaleta in the fray, but she hardly had time to think about that before the sound of the Reaper beam powering up again reached her ears, and when she looked up, she realized for a split second that Harbinger now had her directly in the sight of his targeting eye.

She did not even have time to react before a deafeningly loud noise reached her ears, followed by a blinding heat, an unnatural coldness, and then, finally, darkness.


	34. WEEK EIGHTEEN, Pt.3

The first thing Shepard heard when she woke up was the sound of muffled explosions.

She could not tell which direction the explosions were coming from, or how loud they actually were – her ears were still ringing from the Reaper blast, making everything around her sound muffled, warped, and distant, as if she were listening to the world around her through a thick plate of bulletproof glass. Her vision, too, was murky and dark when she tried to open her eyes, and she frowned, only half-aware, before allowing them to close again, letting her blurry vision readjust to the concept of living sight. She could barely feel her own body under her at first, merely an inhuman weight that slowly began to give way to dull, sore, throbbing pain. Her body felt broken, flattened, and bruised, her limbs burned, blackened, chilled in the open air where her faulty armour had broken away to expose her undersuit and bare skin beneath it. Dust had gathered in her open wounds, congealing them with dirt and pebbles, causing her lacerations to sting as she tried to shift her weight, to check if she were still all there, to little avail. Taking a deep breath, she let herself lay on the blood-soaked ground another moment longer, listening to the sound of explosions from somewhere in the distance as she tried to regain her state of being, her breathing slow and steady as she tried to calm her racing heart.

Though she could barely think through the haze of semi-conscious pain that clouded her mind, she was fully aware of one fact: the sound of explosions meant that wherever she was, she was still at war, and if she was at war, that had to mean that in some way, she was still alive.

"God… they're all gone…!" Zabaleta's voice suddenly echoed in her head, causing her to open her eyes again, now much more alert than before.

"Did we get anyone to the beam?" a second, desperate voice wafted through, causing Shepard to squint, still not quite sure where the voices were coming from. Reaching out with one shaking, burned hand, she started to drag herself forward along the ground, only to slip in a puddle of something thick and wet and land, hard, back on her hands and knees. Looking down, her vision wavered as she realized what she had slipped in was a pool of blood – her blood. Her armoured legs ran thick with it, streaming, glinting sickeningly in the murky light of the Citadel beam, causing a rush of bile to form in the pit of her stomach, threatening to come up. Kicking feebly away from the puddle of blood, she dragged herself forward, inch by inch, her legs floundering under her as she struggled to pull herself up from the ground, still too weak to stand. Looking up, she watched in disconnected, dream-like captivation as the enormous form of Harbinger lifted away from the ground, its massive body streaking up easily through the blackened sky with an ear-splitting hum like a fighter jet taking flight. Her ears rang with white noise, dissonant and bloody, as she turned her attention towards the beam again, dragging herself forward another few inches before starting to shakily push herself to her feet, barely able to stand.

"Negative," Zabaleta's voice came through again, and this time, Shepard could just barely recognize that the sound was coming from her in-ear comm. "Our entire force was decimated." Reaching up a hand towards her in-ear comm, she pressed in on it, trying to speak, to tell them that one still remained alive, but she found that her voice would not work, her lips numb and heavy, her throat too choked and dry to even make a sound. Letting her hand fall exhaustedly back to her side again, she turned her heavy eyes up towards the beam once more, listening as the radio chatter continued over her partially-melted in-ear comm, the voices sounding like they were coming through a wall of thick glass, with her on the other side. "It's too much," Zabaleta insisted. "We need to regroup! All men to the buildings!"

"All forces, retreat! Pull back, pull back!" the second voice agreed. Shepard took a shambling step forward, her right leg dragging under her as she pulled it along, feeling it twisted the wrong way, her knee and foot turned inwards towards her body, unable to register the pain. Her fingers fumbled at her belt, drawing her bloodied Carnifex, causing her artillery belt to fall away from her waist as she did so. She barely even seemed to notice as she limped right over it, her gaze fixed forward, unwavering, heading in the direction of the Citadel beam. The muddled sound of screaming suddenly reached her ears, and she looked up, raising her weapon, ready, as a stream of Husks began running towards her from somewhere behind the beam, their blackened mouths gaping open as they ran with arms outstretched, intent on their target. The Husks felt like they were moving in slow motion, their shrieks garbled and distorted in her ears as they took long, leaping strides across the rubble, seeming to linger endlessly in midair before falling back to the ground soundlessly. The infernal ringing in her head made everything sound shrill, warped, almost otherworldly as she raised her gun, her finger shaking on the trigger as she pulled it again and again, taking out each Husk as they approached with careful shots between the eyes.

She barely even noticed the bodies of the fallen Husks crunching under her boots like wet leather stretched over fresh twigs as she walked across them, until she suddenly stumbled over something warm and soft, realizing too late that it was the fallen body of an Alliance comrade. She fell to all fours, the wet, rocky ground scraping her knees, the cold, soggy sensation of rotten black Husk brain matter on her hands delayed as she dragged herself forward a few inches, trying to regain some sense of cognizance. The Husk she touched did not even feel human anymore, its skin like sharkskin, its body cold and rigid as she gripped hold of it, using its distended ribcage to push herself shakily back onto her feet. Blood covered the ground around her, the colours nearly indistinguishable as they pooled together, black and red, purple and blue, green and orange, overlapping, carried away by rancid puddles of rainwater. Her own red blood blurred her vision as she took another staggering step forward, and then another, driven by pain, determination, a sense of knowing where she needed to go, even if she had no idea how to get there.

Just then, a sharp pain hit her, the shock of the impact shooting through her body and sending her staggering back two steps as a plasma bullet sliced through her undersuit, burning a deep hole along the side of her ribcage. Looking up, Shepard could barely make out the backlit form of a Marauder through the haze of her vision, its dark outline swimming conspicuously against the white-blue glow of the Citadel beam. Raising her weapon, Shepard fired again, almost blindly, her finger squeezing the trigger, letting off shot after shot, hardly even seeming to notice as one of her bullets found home between the husk creature's eyes, causing it to fall backward into a bloody pile with a garbled, electronic-sounding shriek. Limping over the mangled form of the Marauder, Shepard dragged her wounded leg forward into the light of the beam, looking upwards towards the Citadel as she felt the air shift around her, almost as if the atmosphere had somehow become inexplicably lighter and cooler within the confines of the beam. Then, suddenly, she found herself jerked bodily from the ground by an invisible force, feeling as if she were being drawn by an enormous industrial magnet as the energy of the beam flipped her unceremoniously upside-down, dragging her by her heavy boots up towards its inevitable source.

The path of the beam was not, as she had hoped, gentle, or even particularly smooth. Shepard could feel the blood rushing to her head as she struggled to right herself in the slipstream, but the journey was over so quickly she did not even get a chance to register what was happening before she found herself abruptly dumped into a cold, fetid, stiff pile. The pile was slick with rancid black and red clumps, the details of whatever was making it up barely discernible through the wan, hazy red-black light of the hallway she found herself in as she finally blinked her eyes open enough to take a wary look around. "Shepard," Anderson's voice suddenly fizzled in over her in-ear comm, causing her to look up, startled, convinced she was just hearing things. Then, a moment later, the radio hissed in her ear again, causing her to look down this time, a bit more aware of what was going on. " _Shepard_ ," Anderson repeated, more fervently this time, trying to get her attention.

"Anderson?" Shepard choked, the tinny flavour of blood heavy on her tongue, making her speech feel numb and obtuse. "You up here, too?"

"Followed you up," Anderson answered, evenly, breathing heavily from his end of the comm. "But we didn't come out the same place— _ohh_." He groaned, his connection crackling, causing Shepard to look up, worried, distracted from her own state of affairs for a moment as she waited for him to come back online. "At least, I don't think we did," he finally added, panting, still clearly in pain. "What's your surrounding look like?" Spitting out what blood she could, Shepard coughed, shaking her head, trying to pull herself back to the moment, before looking up to take a quick look at her surroundings, feeling suddenly sick to her stomach as she did so. The walls of the Citadel were covered on every side with piles upon piles of mangled dead bodies, some of them so mutilated or rotten that they were barely recognizable. An overpowering smell of death emanated from the piles, one she had somehow not noticed before now, causing her to gag, before leaning to one side and emptying her stomach on the Citadel floor. Grunting in pain, Shepard pushed herself to her feet, giving herself a moment to steady her bearings as her legs shook beneath her, threatening to give out. "You okay?" Anderson asked, concerned.

Shepard shook her head, taking in a deep, ragged breath. "I feel like death," she answered, honestly, her hoarse voice cracking as she reached up to massage her sore shoulder. "But I'm moving." Taking another deep breath in, she took a step forward, and then another, limping, moving slowly but steadily along the winding path carved out between the piles of broken bodies. She steeled her gaze ahead, forcing herself not to look down at the path of dark red blood that trailed behind her as she walked, puddling in her heavy boots, leaving drips and soaking footprints in her wake. "It's… dark," she added, still narrating to Anderson, her breathing heavy as she struggled to fill her lungs. "There's… human remains, scattered…"

"Sounds familiar," Anderson breathed back, still not daring to speak above a cautious whisper. "I'm in a dark hallway… reminds me of your description of the Collector base."

Spotting a faint, flickering blue glow coming from one of the piles of bodies, Shepard stopped, dragging her foot forward and taking a moment to catch her breath, before crouching down to the pile of corpses to pick up a blood-covered Carnifex. The weapon had been so caked in acidic entrails that its previously white paint had started to peel, but Shepard quickly cleaned it off against the leg of her ruined armour, wiping off what blood she could before tucking the weapon into her threadbare remaining ammunition belt. "Makes sense," she conceded, nodding to herself as she pressed the weapon flat against her leg.

"You think they're making a Reaper in here?" Anderson hissed, speaking even lower now, as if afraid he might give the Reapers some sort of idea.

Shepard frowned, grunting in pain, feeling a sickening stream of blood start to trickle down her leg now that she was standing still. "Sure," she answered, still out of breath, turning away from the pile of bodies. "They round them up on Earth… then send the people up here to be processed."

"Goddamn abomination," Anderson whispered, before grunting loudly in pain, almost startling Shepard. Taking a deep breath, Anderson wet his lips audibly over the transmission, clearing his throat and swallowing back hard. "I'm going to keep moving," he announced to her, arduously. "The sooner we blow these bastards back to hell, the better. The troops don't go on forever. But… where the hell are we?"

"Yeah," Shepard agreed, choking out her answer past gritted teeth, trying to ignore the shooting pain in her ribs from where the plasma bullet had clipped her side. "Doesn't look like… any part of the Citadel… I've been to." Turning to glance towards the far wall, she watched as one of the Citadel Keepers looked up at her from its work, hardly seeming to notice that its entire body was caked in rotting blood and entrails. Its enormous, bug-like pincers clicked as it considered her, thoughtful for a moment, before starting to slowly wade through the pile of corpses towards another work station, obliviously dragging along what looked like a bloody small intestine as it went. Shepard gagged again at the sight, but quickly lifted a hand to her mouth, stopping the bile from coming up, before turning away from the sight of the Keeper and starting again down the dark hallway.

The longer she walked down the cramped, bloody antechamber, the more painfully aware she became of her body in the dark, of her distended stomach hanging in front of her, feeling unbearably heavy and alien, like baggage strapped around her waist. The taut, bulbous skin felt cumbersome and unseemly, burdensome, unpleasant, like something she should have been able to take off with her armour but somehow could not find the clasp to do so. Shepard pressed a hand to her stomach, attempting to settle her nerves, hoping to feel the warmth, the sense of peace, of hope, but instead her midsection only felt strange and unsettled beneath her fingers, like a bowling ball in a bag of water inside her undersuit, weighing her down. Taking another pained step forward, she stumbled, barely sparing a glance for the severed leg she had tripped over before taking a deep breath and holding it in, setting her sights for the hall ahead.

"Whoa," Anderson's voice suddenly breathed through her in-ear comm, causing her to stop short, looking up, attentive. "One of the walls here just realigned itself. The place is shifting… changing." Shepard frowned at the walkway ahead, taken aback by this new development, as if expecting to see some sort of movement in the walls of the hallway where she stood, but everything remained unnervingly still save for one of the harsh lights lining the footpath starting to flicker somewhere further down in the dark. "There's a chasm here," Anderson spoke again, causing Shepard to look down, now staring at the bloody floor at her feet. "And more hallways like the one I was in."

No sooner had Anderson said these words when Shepard suddenly heard a loud rattling noise, and, looking up again, she realized that what she had thought to be a dead end wall at the end of the hallway had started to slowly slide open in front of her, revealing a dimly-lit hallway beyond. The hallway was metal, bare and stark, the wider path dropping off into a chasm over which stretched a sturdy-looking metallic bridge, a string of harsh lights like the ones in the bloodied hallway lining the path on either side. The glare from the floodlights blinded her momentarily, and she lifted a weak hand over her eyes, allowing her vision to adjust as she took another few uncertain steps forward towards the bridge, the open air feeling cold and eerily still against her exposed skin. "I think I'm near an exit," she told him, hopefully, taking another step forward towards the expanse of the chasm. Blackened burn marks lined the floor of the bridge, enormous smudges in what seemed to be the shape of organic bodies, and when Shepard turned, she noticed that some of these bodies had been left where they fell, just like the bodies in the room before, the lifeless corpses draping, undignified, over the edges of the railing.

"I see something up ahead," Anderson's voice came through her comm again, causing her to turn her attention back towards the crossing. "Might be a way to cross over."

"Don't get too far ahead of me," Shepard told him, quickly, limping towards the stretch of bridge. She paused, peering once more over the side towards the vast chasm, before starting to make her way slowly across the expanse, trying not to think about how far of a drop it would be back down to the ground where she had come from. The bridge seemed endless as she walked, and she stumbled wearily to one side, giving her injured leg a rest, leaning a hand against the sturdy barrier as she struggled to push herself further forward.

"Where do you think you're at?" Anderson asked, his voice barely above a wary whisper, causing Shepard to stop short, frowning faintly, breathing heavily as she looked over across the stretch of chasm again. As she did so, she heard a loud whirring sound, and as she watched, a series of metal plates began to shift across the chasm, moving downward, almost as if the Citadel had developed a mind of its own.

"I just found that chasm you were talking about—" Shepard started to answer, frankly, swallowing hard to keep from panting openly into her comm, but Anderson quickly cut her off, talking over her, not allowing her to finish.

"Hold on," Anderson told her, his voice quickening, causing her to look up at the sudden change of tone. "I see something… a control panel, maybe? I'm just gonna go o—" But before his message could finish transferring, the connection between the two comms fizzled out, obscuring the rest of his statement in harsh, crackling white noise.

Shepard frowned at the interference, reaching up a hand to tap her in-ear comm, trying to figure out if it was just a connection error. "Anderson?" she asked, pausing in her tapping to listen for an answer. When no answer came through the static, she let out a deep sigh, letting her hand fall back to her side as she turned her attention back towards the waiting end of the bridge again. "Damn it," she swore, quietly, before pushing herself away from the wall of the bridge and starting to move towards the end again.

Between her wounded leg, her diminishing strength, and the low, lingering burning sensation that threatened to take hold of her heart and lungs, the incline up the last stretch of the bridge was nearly impossible for her to climb, but, as she finally rounded the crest of the pathway, she found herself facing what looked to be a large, circular, suspended platform. The platform was broad, made of plain, polished metal, with pathways just like the one she had come from leading off in several directions. It did not seem to have any sort of barrier surrounding it, or anything else that might keep them from falling into the bottomless abyss of the Citadel below, but a wide wall of panoramic glass encircled the entire display, offering an unhindered view of the glinting lights of the closed Citadel arms. Across the deck from her, near what she guessed was the front of the circular platform, Anderson stood with his back to her in front of what appeared to be some sort of control panel, likely the one he had mentioned before their comm connection had been severed. He leaned heavily against one of the metal sides of the control as he slowly peck-typed in some sort of override code with his one free, blood-coated hand. His left leg was bent awkwardly under him, bloodied and twisted to one side, crippled and apparently nearly useless as he hopped forward a bit more, trying to balance on his one good leg.

"Anderson," Shepard called out to him, her voice strangled, her throat dry. Anderson turned, limping as he dragged his injured leg around to face her, his arms held precariously out to his sides as he tried to keep his balance. His lips were cracked and bloodied, his cheek split open, and one of his eyes was so bruised it had swollen shut, a nasty, ragged cut slicing open the purple flesh, causing pus and blood to dribble down his face, pooling at his jaw. Shepard started to take another step forward towards him, but suddenly found that her feet would not move, her legs frozen under her in suspended animation, her arms feeling numb, limp, and impossibly heavy. Her vision swam with black, swampy blurs, her head feeling overfull, heavy, and agonizingly busy, as if it were suddenly filled with the buzzing of thousands of angry hornets, making it impossible to think. Whispered voices echoed in her ears, unintelligible, overlapping, angry and hateful, becoming more and more desperate the louder they became.

Looking up at Anderson again, Shepard recognized that something seemed off about him as well, and as he took another step forward towards her, she realized that his motions did not seem to be his own, but rather as if he were being pulled forward on the strings of a giant, invisible marionette. "Shepard," Anderson croaked, sounding worried, trying his best to warn her. "I… can't…"

"I underestimated you, Shepard."

The smooth, self-satisfied voice came from behind her, and Shepard felt her hair start to stand on end at the sound, a hateful chill trickling down her spine as she struggled to turn her head to look back towards him, but found herself unable to move at all. Even without seeing him, she knew exactly who it was, and as the Illusive Man came around to face her, she felt a rush of blood coursing through her, her pulse speeding up with anger at the sight of him. His looks had deteriorated since the last time they had come face to face, his outward appearance now a far cry from the pristine, composed image of his holo-projection. Dark circles had formed around his glowing blue eyes, shadowy and sunken, like the eyes of a Husk, while blackened, burn-like streaks trailed down his face like bloody nail marks, with pockmarked, bright blue cybernetic implants flickering under the greyish skin at every turn of his head. His flawlessly pressed suit was rumpled and uneven, the first button left undone at the top of his shirt, and his usually immaculate silver hair was dishevelled, untamed, and overlong, as if he had not run a brush through it in days. His generally pristine, manicured nails were uncut, yellowed, and blackened at the nailbed, belaying his faintly shaking hands and making him look as if he had not slept in weeks.

"Nice to see you could make it, Shepard," the Illusive Man told her, his voice chillingly calm, almost aloof. He had a particular way of saying her name that made her feel as though she were the subject of some morbid nature documentary, and while she had always been able to tune it out before, the tone of dismissive superiority now rang violently in her ears, causing every muscle in her body to tense at the sound, making her see red. Pausing in front of her, the Illusive Man took his lighter from his jacket pocket, clicking the flame into life and lighting the new cigarette dangling from his lips, before taking the cigarette from his mouth, wetting his lips, and exhaling a sharp huff of smoke. Then, turning to look at her again, he grinned at her, mocking her helplessness, before making her watch as he took another deep puff of his cigarette, savouring it, taking his time.

"What—?!" Shepard choked, barely able to force the single word out through her gritted teeth.

"I warned you," the Illusive Man told her, dismissively, staring down at the end of his cigarette as he exhaled another lungful of smoke, as if it had become the most interesting thing in the world. "Control is the means to survival. Control of the Reapers… and of you, if necessary. Though, to be honest, I've come to realize that controlling you isn't that hard… not really." Having said this, he brought the cigarette back to his lips, taking a long, pensive drag of it as his glowing blue eyes trailed slowly down from her dishevelled hair to her scuffed, heavy boots, before moving back up the slope of her blood-soaked legs, finally coming to rest on her stomach. His gaze settled there, considering her, until, after a moment of contemplation, a sick, smug smirk began to pull at the corners of his thin mouth. Taking the cigarette from his mouth again, he wet his lips, flicking glowing embers from the end as he exhaled a long, fine stream of smoke, his eyes dropping from her stomach to the floor, as if to afford her some disparaging decency.

"Putting Cerberus' money and the galaxy's time to good use, I see," he informed her, self-satisfied. "Though I have to say, from the reports I got while you were still working for us, I knew it was only a matter of time. How the Alliance managed to keep you from getting pregnant years ago is beyond me."

"Take your petty insults and… shove them up your ass," Shepard growled, repeating her mother's sentiment, forcing her words through frozen, clenched teeth. "I'm not here to measure dicks with you. I came here to… activate the Catalyst, and you're… in the way."

The Illusive Man looked up at her again at this, bouncing his cigarette almost nonchalantly between his fingers, his cybernetic blue gaze moving between her stomach and her face as the sickeningly complacent smirk on his face grew wider. He lifted his cigarette, nearing it to his mouth again and taking in another deep breath, as if trying to see how long he could keep her waiting before she lost her cool completely. "The only thing I'm standing in the way of is you making a terrible mistake," he told her. "The Catalyst _will_ be activated, but not as a means to destroy, as you intend. When I do activate the Catalyst – and I will – it will be as a means to _control_."

"They're controlling _you_ ," Anderson insisted, jerking his head to face the Illusive Man, grunting in effort as he struggled to perform even such a simple motion. In response, the Illusive Man smirked, holding up his hands, as if to show how easily he could do it.

"I don't think so, Admiral," he told Anderson, bluntly, before shaking his head, amused.

"Controlling me is a lot different than controlling a Reaper," Shepard hissed, grunting as she forced her head a few inches to one side, getting a better look at the Illusive Man.

The Illusive Man paused, considering this, bringing a thoughtful hand up to his chin, before offering another soft, dark chuckle and shaking his head, letting his hand drop back to his side. "Have a little faith," he told her, turning to face the massive, panoramic window, looking out on the lights of the closed Citadel arms. Bringing his cigarette up to his lips, he took a deep, pensive drag of it, tucking his free hand into his pocket as he made her wait for his next words. "When humanity discovered the mass relays, when we learned there was more to the galaxy than we imagined, there were some who thought the relays should be destroyed," he told her, exhaling smoke in a thin, concise stream. "They were scared of what we'd find – _terrified_ of what we might let in. But look at what humanity has achieved." Turning away from the window, he began to pace slowly across the floor towards her, bouncing his cigarette between his fingers as he locked his cybernetic gaze on her, intent. "Since that discovery, we've advanced more than the last _ten thousand years_ combined," he told her, inspired. "And the Reapers will do the same for us again – a _thousand fold_. But…"

He stopped, holding his free hand out towards her, before lifting it slowly, as if conducting a private orchestra. As he did so, her hand raised independently from her side, holding up her Carnifex and aiming it at Anderson. "…Only if we can harness their ability to control."

"Bullshit," Anderson spat back, grunting in pain as his injured knee popped, causing Shepard to flinch at the sound. "We destroy them, or they destroy us."

"And waste this opportunity?" the Illusive Man insisted, rounding on Anderson. "Never."

"You're playing with things you don't understand," Shepard hissed, choking out her words, her jaw rigid, locked together by whatever morbid influence he was using against her. "With power… you shouldn't be able to use."

The Illusive Man paused, taking a thoughtful breath in, before turning away from Anderson again to stare once more out the panoramic window. "I… don't believe that," he answered, disinterestedly. "If we can control it, why shouldn't it be ours?"

"Because we're not ready," Shepard insisted. Her hand shook violently as she fought to drop it, but she could not break his influence, and her arm remained suspended, frozen in place.

The Illusive Man shook his head in response, resting his hand against his chest. "No," he told her, matter-of-factly. "This is the way humanity must evolve."

"There is _always_ another way," Anderson hissed, shifting his weight to try to relieve his wounded leg, but to little avail.

The Illusive Man huffed, unimpressed, before turning away from the panoramic window again to face the two of them once more. "I've dedicated my life to understanding the Reapers," he maintained, flicking ashes impatiently from the end of his cigarette. "And I know with certainty the Crucible will allow me to control them."

"And then what?" Shepard insisted, causing the Illusive Man to turn his attention on her, his expression growing suddenly dark.

"Look at the power they wield!" the Illusive Man pressed, taking an insistent step forward towards her. "Look at what they can do!" As he said this, he lifted his free hand, clenching it into a fist, causing an aura of muddy purple light to radiate out from his palm. All at once, Shepard felt every muscle in her body contract, her finger jerking on the trigger, causing the gun to go off, hitting Anderson squarely in the stomach. Anderson shouted in pain, his body jerking, unable to move to cover the bullet-wound, but Shepard could barely hear him over the feeling of a rush of blood running down both her legs, pooling in the crevices of her boots and causing a large, bloody puddle to form on the floor around her feet. Anderson gave a grunt of pain, breathing heavily through his nose, his breathing practiced, trying hard to keep his pulse low, but when Shepard looked up at him again, he did not even seem to be concerned with his own injury anymore. His dark eyes grew wide as he stared at the pool of blood she now stood in, his expression ashen and gaunt, and Shepard gritted her teeth, giving one choked, strangled, dry sob as her entire body began to shake, her hand vibrating so violently she could barely keep hold of her gun. Steeling herself, she wet her lips, taking a deep, shuddering breath, before turning her stinging red eyes on the Illusive Man, hateful, not letting him see her so weak.

"I see what they did to you," Shepard told him, her voice trembling, threatening to break with indignant anger.

At this, The Illusive Man turned on her again, his glowing blue eyes flashing as they widened on her. "I took what I wanted from them," he insisted, harshly. "Made it my own! This isn't about me, or you, or that disgusting creature you're carrying. It's about things so much bigger than _all_ of us!"

"He's wrong," Anderson coughed, his breathing ragged, his words frothy with blood. "Don't listen to him."

The Illusive Man scoffed at this opposition, turning sharply on his heel and flicking angry ashes from the end of his cigarette as he rounded on Anderson, his hateful gaze burning into him. "Yes, don't listen to me," he sneered, seething, baring his blackened teeth. "Don't listen to me, of course. You're probably fucking her, too, aren't you? That always was the only thing that seemed to motivate her." Then, turning to face Shepard again, he indicated harshly towards her with his bent, battered cigarette. "Tell me, Shepard, whose baby is that?" he insisted, coldly. "Or do you even know?" Letting out another hard, mocking snort of breath, he shook his head, taking a shaky drag of his cigarette, before wetting his lips and exhaling the smoke in a huff. "So who _will_ you listen to, Shepard?" he demanded, spreading out his arms to indicate the room at large. "An old soldier stuck in his ways? Only able to see the world down the barrel of a gun?" Letting his hands fall back to his sides, he moved across the floor towards Shepard again, before leaning down to look into her face. "And what if he's wrong?" he hissed, intent. "What if controlling the Reapers _is_ the answer?"

"If we destroy the Reapers, this ends _today_ ," Shepard answered, her voice stronger now, insistent. "But if you can't control them—"

"But I CAN!" the Illusive Man shouted, cutting over her, his voice breaking in desperation as he threw his cigarette to the floor, forgotten. "I CAN control them!"

"Are you willing to bet humanity's existence on it?" Shepard challenged, her voice growing stronger with indignation, feeling the murky black influence he had over her starting to slowly trickle away the more upset he became. She tried to move her gun arm again, fighting hard against the force that bound her, feeling her heels dig more firmly into her boots as she struggled, the sickening lukewarm slush of blood seeping further up the sides with every motion.

The Illusive Man shook his head again, more adamantly this time, his singed silver hair growing wild as he ran his hands back through it, desperate, before holding his hands out in front of him and staring down at them, half-curling them into claws. "I… _KNOW_ … IT WILL WORK…!" he insisted, his voice halting, shaking, threatening to break as his hands began to tremble in front of him. Lifting his hands to his head again, he held them away from his temples, still vibrating, before tucking his head down and shaking it violently, trying to clear it, looking as if he were having some sort of psychosomatic fit.

"You can't, can you?" Shepard pressed, her voice cutting, unrelenting, doing everything she could to get inside his head. "They won't let you do it."

"NO!" the Illusive Man shouted, righting himself again, pointing an accusatory finger at Shepard as he looked up at her with wide, wild, indignant eyes. " _I'm_ in control! _NO ONE'S_ telling me what to do!"

"Listen to yourself," Anderson begged, his voice hoarse as he coughed in pain, the dark supernatural influence clearly the only thing keeping him on his feet. "You're… indoctrinated…!"

"No!" the Illusive Man insisted, indignantly, turning sharply on Anderson now. "NO! The two of you, so self-righteous! You think power like this comes easy?! There are sacrifices!" Wheeling back towards Shepard again, he pointed one blackened finger towards her stomach, irate. "What could you possibly know about sacrifice – look at you!" he told her, harshly, spittle flying from his mouth as he spoke. "Four, five months pregnant in the middle of a war?! You think this is a game, Shepard! This is no game, not for me! Not for humanity!"

"This isn't a game," Shepard told him, her voice hissing as she shook her head. "Not for any of us. But you've sacrificed too much."

The Illusive Man bristled at this accusation, his chin jerking sharply upward as he lifted a shaking hand towards his face, holding it there for a moment, frozen, as if trying to think of something insightful to say but coming up with nothing. "Shepard, I… I only wanted to protect humanity!" he finally told her, turning away from her towards the panoramic windows of the Citadel. "The Crucible can control them – I know it can! I just…!" He stopped, his voice cracking, before trailing off and turning back around to face her again, bringing his hands down in front of him and starting to wring them anxiously. She could see him fidgeting with the blackened nail of his ring finger, and as she watched, she could see the nail start to lift slightly from the nailbed, but he did not even seem to notice as he stared at her, intent, preoccupied, obliviously picking away.

"It's not too late," Shepard told him, half-exasperated, her voice taking on a reassuring tone for the first time since she had started talking to him. "Let us go. We'll do the rest."

The Illusive Man faltered, his hands stopping in their fidgeting, his entire body seeming to come to a standstill as he stared at her, his eyes wide, as if seriously considering her offer. Then, bringing his hand up again, he bowed his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he let out a deep, shuddering exhale. "I…" he said, his voice wavering, his hands still visibly shaking even as he tried to appear collected and in control. Then, letting his hands drop back to his sides again, he took a deep breath, looking up at her again, before shaking his head, his hands curling into half-claws at his sides. "I… I can't do that, Commander," he told her, his voice breaking even through his determination.

"Of course you can't," Anderson growled, dragging his leg a few inches forward as he strained to look over at the Illusive Man. "They own you now."

Turning his flashing eyes on Anderson, the Illusive Man stiffened, his expression instantly hardening into the look of a dog detecting an intruder. Then, making his way over to where Anderson stood, he reached down to the older man's belt, pulling his weapon from its holster and holding it up, inspecting it in the wan light of the Citadel control. "You… you'd undo everything I've accomplished," he told them, dropping the hammer of the Carnifex and listening as it powered up, watching the red lights flicker on in almost detached interest. "I won't let that happen."

"Because of you, humanity is already undone," Shepard hissed, narrowing her eyes at him.

" _That's not true_!" the Illusive Man insisted, his voice breaking audibly as he threw up his hands in desperation, the gun flailing half-forgotten in his palm as he gestured wildly towards her, almost begging her to take back her words.

"They have the Citadel!" Shepard shot back, harshly, not giving him an inch. "They've got us fighting each other instead of fighting them!"

The Illusive Man let out a cry of anguish at this, his free hand flying to his head, running anxiously back through his hair as he began to pace in front of her. The hand with the gun moved up and down, pausing to aim at nothing before falling back down to his side again, as if he were too upset to have any real idea of what he wanted to do with it. "I just need to—!" he started to justify himself, but he did not even get his words out before she shouted over him again, cutting him off, not letting him finish his train of thought.

"You've done _exactly_ what the Reapers wanted!" Shepard told him, her voice rising in angry pitch, causing him to bring his hands to his head again with a strangled shout, trying in vain to block her out. "You're _still_ doing it because _they control you!_ "

"I…!" the Illusive Man shouted back, uselessly, his voice cracking loudly as he brought his free hand back to his head, gripping a handful of silver hair as the barely-visible whites of his eyes began to turn red with the start of angry, desperate, frightened tears. "They're too strong…!"

"You're stronger!" Shepard insisted, shouting over him, getting in his head as best she could. "Don't let them win! Break their hold! _Don't let them control you!_ "

At these last words, the Illusive Man looked up, his cybernetic gaze flat and blank, his mannerism seeming almost aimless as he took a deep, shuddering breath. Then, still holding the readied gun in one hand, he let his arms drop back to his sides, turning to look at Shepard again, defeated. His eyes lingered on her for a long moment, saying nothing, his lips drawing into a thin, conquered line as the tension in the room rose higher, razor-thin, shrill and ringing, like a single, tinny note drawn out painfully long. "What will your child think?" he finally asked her, his voice fading in and out as he spoke, his throat dry and raw, too weary to fake proud bravado any longer. "Knowing his mother sacrificed his future to attain her own selfish goals. Knowing he could have had a future of promise, a future of progress, of knowledge… but you just wanted a future of hollow victory and unnecessary bloodshed." Swallowing hard, he frowned again, his blackened fingers shifting warily on the grip of the gun as he swayed ever so slightly in place, tilting his ruined head to one side, regretfully. "You're nothing but a soldier, Shepard," he told her, shaking his head, slowly. "That's all you ever were. You never shared in my ambitions. I wish you had, but… you never could. It's my fault, I suppose… for being so blind. I should have been able to see that from the start."

Having said this, the Illusive Man paused, his gaze drifting slowly away from her before finally coming to rest somewhere past her, stopping midway between the floor and the panoramic glass. Then, after a long moment, his thin mouth twisted into a bitter, twisted half-smirk, and he let out a soft huff of cynical, humourless laughter. "Who am I kidding?" he asked, speaking to no one in particular, his usually self-assured voice thin and weak. "It doesn't matter anyway. That child is probably not even human." He stayed that way another moment longer, his brow furrowing into a hard, silver line, seemingly lost in thought. Then, turning his attention up towards Shepard again, he steeled his expression, his eyes growing hard and cold as he stared at her, his hand tightening determinedly around the grip of the gun. "I… tried, Shepard," he told her, honestly, no sign of hesitation in his tone. Then, before she had a chance to object, he brought the gun up to his temple, squeezing the trigger, and ended his life, collapsing into a defeated pile on the floor of the Citadel observatory.

With the Illusive Man dead, the eerie hold that had taken control of Shepard and Anderson immediately subsided, allowing Shepard to finally drop the arm holding the Carnifex at steady gunpoint with an exclamation of pained relief. Tucking her gun back into her belt, she started across the observatory towards the control panel, dragging her injured leg under her, forcing herself to walk on it as she made her determined way towards the Citadel control, intent on doing what she had come to do. As she worked at the control override, she heard a heavy _thump_ from behind her, and, turning, she watched in grave concern as, with nothing left to hold him upright, Anderson's injured legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed, half-conscious, to the floor of the observatory. Pressing his hands to the bullet-wound in his stomach, Anderson grunted, letting out a sharp, hard breath as he tried to stop the injury from bleeding as much as he could manage. Turning her attention back to the controls, Shepard slowly finished her system override, her vision starting to swim as she entered the last crucial numbers and took a step back from the panel, listening in proud, injured satisfaction as the massive arms of the Citadel began to thrum and vibrate, preparing to open to accept the Crucible.

"This is it, everyone," Hackett's voice suddenly crackled in over her in-ear comm, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin at the sound. With everything that had gone on since the last time she had utilized her comm, she had almost forgotten she still had it in, and even the sound of a familiar voice in her ear was not enough to quell her surprise that she still retained some contact with the outside world. "The arms are opening. Ten seconds to contact." Taking another step back from the controls, Shepard steeled her footing against the edge of the panel, watching as the enormous arms of the Citadel began to slowly peel open like a massive, morbid metal flower blooming in slow motion. Just then, the deep sound of Anderson's voice pulled her attention away from the Citadel controls, causing her to turn quickly in place, giving a soft hiss of pain as the sudden movement exacerbated her open bullet-wound. Pressing a hand to her exposed side, she held onto the control panel to help keep her balance as she moved back away from the edge of the observatory towards where Anderson had pushed himself upright and was now sitting in place, watching her thoughtfully.

Sharp, cutting pain coursed through her wounded leg as she limped forward towards him, the throbbing ache shooting up her spine, making her lungs feel as if she had inhaled shards of glass. Finally coming to stand in front of him at the edge of the raised central platform, she paused, the hand that had been covering her side now resting absently against the small of her back as she stared down at the empty spot beside him. Her gaze shifting over to Anderson, she hesitated, anxiously watching him as he looked up at her, his dark eyes trailing over her weary form, pausing momentarily on her obvious stomach, before moving the rest of the way up to her face, stopping only when he reached her eyes. "Commander," Anderson acknowledged her, gently, giving a short nod and indicating for her to join him against the platform. Taking his invitation, Shepard lowered herself slowly downward, faltering as she reached out a hand to steady herself, before she suddenly felt Anderson's hand on her arm, reassuring her, helping her make it all the way to the ground to sit beside him.

Stretching her tired legs out in front of her, Shepard let out a soft, drained sigh, sliding her hand under the curve of her stomach to feel it resting reassuringly in her lap. She figured, with everything out in the open, there was no point in hiding it anymore, but even so Anderson did not stare, instead turning his gaze away from her to look out the panoramic windows towards the open expanse of Earth below. His chest rose and fell evenly as he watched the soundless destruction playing out like a silent vid below, his thick brows furrowing into a hard, pensive line as he stared straight ahead in thoughtful silence, his expression solemn but serene. Turning to look over towards Anderson again, Shepard hesitated, unsure what there was to say. Then, letting out a soft, relieved breath of tired laughter, she smiled, her face feeling sore and weather-beaten as the edges of her mouth curved ever slightly upward. "We did it," she told him, proudly, feeling her heart give a short, soft flutter at the words she never thought she would hear herself say out loud.

Anderson grunted, giving a short, stilted half-nod, before turning to glance over towards her, his dark eyes fond as he regarded her. "Yes… we did," he agreed, just as proudly, his deep voice hoarse, stilted with pain. "We both… did." Clearing his throat, Anderson shifted his weight against the platform, forcing himself to sit more assuredly upright, one knee tucking up halfway towards him as the other stretched out in front of him, relieving it. "It's… quite a view," he added, quietly, giving a soft, resolving sigh.

Shepard nodded along with the comment, giving another sharp gasp of pain as her bullet-wound twinged again, her fingers curling around the open burn in her side as she tried to ignore the blood that had soaked through her undersuit. "Best seats in the house," she agreed, weakly, giving a small, pained smile before shifting to sit a bit straighter as well.

Taking a deep breath, Anderson's eyes narrowed faintly as he stared out the window towards the slowly-nearing expanse of Earth beneath their weary feet. "God…" he breathed, letting out a heavy, tired sigh, his chest heaving with exhausted effort as he wet his dry, chapped lips. "Feels like years since I just… sat down."

Shepard gave a soft, pained gasp of a laugh in response, tucking her knees a bit closer to her body as she did so. "I think you earned a rest," she said, glancing over towards Anderson momentarily before sliding the tips of her fingers inside the torn material of her shirt to feel the charred rash the gunshot had left behind. She could tell, even without inspecting it, that it was not going to be an easy or painless fix, and she let out another overwhelmed sigh at the thought, dropping her hand back to her side, defeated. Turning her attention towards Anderson again, she looked down towards his hands, sitting, open-palmed and weary, in his lap, and, reaching over towards him, she picked up his calloused left hand, turning it over in the light. A tiny, pained smile inched over her cracked lips as she noticed a blood-stained, faded gold metal ring around his third finger, and she gave a soft breath of laughter as she looked up at him again, expectant. "You never told me you were m… married," she told him, taking a short gasp of breath as a searing pain pierced through her ribs, her expression flinching for a moment before she wet her lips, tasting blood, steeling herself as best she could.

Anderson hesitated, glancing down towards the ring on his finger, as if surprised by the revelation himself, before letting out a hoarse, tired chuckle in return. "I never told anyone," he confessed, coughing a bit as he turned the ring towards him, reflecting the coarse light of the Citadel control. "Didn't want to make a big fuss about it. Me and Kahlee Sanders… we tied the knot in secret right before the push for Earth. Over vidcomm. Not very romantic, but times being what they are…" He coughed again, louder this time, cutting himself off short as he dropped his hand back to his lap, blood trickling down his chin as he took in a long, ragged breath. "We'd planned to… renew our vows in person after the war was over," he added, taking in a deep breath as his eyes began to flutter again. "But now I don't know if… I'm going to make it to the ceremony."

"You'll make it, Anderson," Shepard assured him, stifling a shock of pain as she gave him a sharp, determined nod. "Even if I have to… carry you there, myself."

Anderson opened his eyes at this, giving a thin, doting smile at her words, but the smile soon faded from his face as he stared straight ahead, his dark eyes pensive, distant, almost glassy as he took in the silent carnage below. "You ever wonder…" he suddenly spoke up again, his words thoughtful, drawn-out, his brow furrowing faintly as he turned the words over and over in his mind. "How things would have been different… how our lives would be… different… if this hadn't happened?" A thin silence settled following these words, and for a long moment neither of them spoke, merely staring down at the world spread out below them, silent and surreal. It almost felt as if they had become somehow detached from their bodies, as if both of them were ethereal otherworldly beings looking down on a universe they were no longer a real part of it. Shepard had never been one to believe in such fanciful things as God or heaven, but she had to imagine that if such a place existed, it would likely be something very much like this.

"I never had a family, Shepard," Anderson suddenly spoke again, breaking the thoughtful silence, a strangely longing, almost sad ache to his deep voice. "Not really. Not the way I… imagined it'd be." He paused, his brow furrowing faintly in thought, the tip of his tongue moving slowly out to wet his cracked, bloody lips. "I have my son… from my first marriage," he added, his gaze drifting pensively down towards his boots. "But we never talk. I wish… I wish I'd spent more time with him. I wish…" Taking another deep, laboured breath, he raised his brows, his eyes still distant as his lips drew into a thin, penitent line. "I wish… I could have had children with Kahlee," he said, quieter. "She wanted children… so much."

"There will be time enough for that, now," Shepard told him, reassuringly. In response, Anderson gave a soft, wheezing cough of a laugh, the edges of his dark eyes pinching at the thought, his cracked lips parting to reveal blood-stained teeth before he closed his mouth again, hiding the telltale crimson from view.

"I… I think that ship has sailed," he told her, his voice faintly choked as he wet his lips, turning his gaze down towards his hands still sitting in his lap. Then, after a moment of pause, he turned to look towards Shepard again, his gaze moving momentarily over her stomach before returning earnestly to her face. "What about you?" he asked, gasping a bit, causing her to look over at him, surprised. "Ever think about… settling down?"

Shepard hesitated, trying to figure out if he were joking or not, before finally letting out a faint, almost sad breath of a laugh in response and shaking her head. "Yeah…" she answered, half-sarcastic, turning to look back down towards her stomach again, before letting out another soft sigh. Anyone who knew her well knew that she was the least likely person in the world to give up a military career in exchange for a life of suburban comfort, but, even so, she could not help but find something oddly appealing about the idea. Something about the notion of being able to vanish into a life of monotonous anonymity, to disappear from the history books as suddenly as she had come into them, was so surprisingly tempting to her that for a moment, she paused, the smile fading from her lips as she found herself seriously considering this suggestion. "I like the sound of that," she finally said, her voice faint, distant, almost longing. She hesitated a moment longer, before suddenly catching herself again and giving a short, soft, injured hiccup of a laugh. "Not sure I'd be much good at it, though," she added, looking up at Anderson again, before giving a hiss and clutching at her bullet wound again as it gave another sudden twinge of pain.

Anderson frowned, his brow furrowing in concern as he watched her grasp for the wound in her side. "Sure you would," he finally answered, deciding against mentioning it. He stared at her for a moment longer, taking her in, his dark eyes conveying every emotion, every fatherly notion. Then, reaching out a blood-stained hand, he took hold of her shoulder, gently coaxing her over closer to him, letting his arm rest around her waist as she shifted her painful way next to him against the platform. Laying her head against his shoulder, Shepard took a deep, thoughtful breath in, inhaling the familiar scent of his aftershave, the smell of metal against his skin, feeling as he moved his hand up a bit more, slowly, before finally letting it come to rest against her stomach. Lifting his dark, weary gaze back to her face, Anderson smiled, the gesture pained but sincere, the corners of his mouth twitching as they pressed upward into his dimpled cheeks. Shepard stared back at him, realizing for the first time that while she had seen him smile before, it had never been this heartfelt, this bright, this genuinely happy, and she could not help but feel a certain air of foreboding at the sight of it.

Lifting a blood-caked hand, Shepard rested it on top of Anderson's on her stomach, her fingers drawing over the rough, dark skin, noting how cold he felt to the touch. Anderson's eyes did not leave her face at the gesture; he simply continued to watch her, his smile fixed, his eyes gleaming, though whether that was from the emotion he was feeling or the pain, it was difficult to tell. "I think you're going to make a great… mother," he finally told her, breaking the quiet that had fallen between them.

Shepard paused, taken aback, touched almost to tears by his words. Then, giving a soft, heavy-heartedly humoured breath, she offered him a gentle, sad smile in response. "Uh-huh," she answered, forcing a playfully dismissive tone, unsure of what else there was to say.

Anderson said nothing at this response, hardly seeming to even notice her concern as he took a deep, shaking breath, his calloused thumb stroking gently across the curve of her stomach, lost in thought. "You'll have… so many stories to tell," he finally told her, raising his thick brows as he turned to glance over towards her again, his dark gaze moving down to her stomach as he considered his words. "So many… heroic stories. Think how proud your kid will be, telling everyone… his mom is… Commander Shepard."

"I don't know about that," Shepard answered, half-jokingly, trying her hardest to stay positive for Anderson's sake, but it was proving difficult the longer the conversation went on. She did not want to disappoint or upset him, especially not now, but with the Reaper blast that had nearly taken her out right before the beam, she knew that there was no way her child would make it to full gestation, especially with how much blood she had lost from places she did not even want to think about. It was a startling realization, but she had been so completely distracted with trying to get up to the Catalyst to open the Citadel arms that it had not really even crossed her mind before now. As she looked down at the slick crimson that coated her legs, however, causing what was left of her undersuit to cling nauseatingly to her skin, she could not help but feel sick to her stomach, and she closed her eyes, her grip tightening faintly around Anderson's hand as she leaned back against his welcoming shoulder, trying to keep herself from being sick all over her own lap. Wetting her lips, she tasted the tinny flavour of blood, and, taking a deep, shaking breath, she finally opened her eyes again, before looking down at her and Anderson's hands pressed together against her stomach.

"Not everything I've done is… something to be proud of," she told him, quietly, her voice broken by soft gasps of pain as she tried her hardest not to cry. She would not cry. She could not cry, not here. Not now. Not in front of Anderson, with everything that was at stake. Perhaps later, when she had had the time to go over everything that had happened, time to reconcile and make sense of what had happened, she would allow herself to have a good cry alone in her quarters. Right now, however, she knew she needed to be strong, at least for Anderson's sake.

Anderson looked up at her at these words, his expression stern but kind, forgiving, tender and understanding as he stared at her, seeming almost to be looking through her exterior and straight down into her soul. " _I'm_ proud of you," he told her, decisively, swallowing hard as he stifled another pained, ragged cough of breath. "You did good, child. You did… good."

Shepard clenched her teeth at his answer, feeling her expression start to slowly crumple as she tried hard to hold back a wave of tears, to no success. Tucking her head into his shoulder, she gave a soft, pained gasp of breath, wetting her chapped lips as a pair of warm tears skated down her dirtied cheeks, streaking dried blood down her chin. "Th… thank you, Sir," she finally answered, her hand holding tighter onto his as he slid his hand further across her stomach until it rested nearly on top of it. A wistful silence fell on the two of them as they sat staring out the panoramic window of the Citadel, the still, fateful quietude of space surrounding them, consuming them, with neither knowing if there was anything left to say. They watched as enormous Reapers were blown apart by the force of the Crucible weapon beam, torn to pieces by silent explosions, the entire spectacle seeming almost to be moving in slow motion as the lonely, twisted pieces floated freely around them in open space. Shepard's thumb passed distractedly over the tough skin of the back of Anderson's hand, barely even seeming to notice as he closed his eyes, his head coming to gently lean against the top of hers, still and silent.

"Anderson?" Shepard finally asked, quietly, breaking the pensive silence. "You still there?"

Anderson paused a moment, taking in a deep, shuddering breath, before finally letting out a weak, acknowledging grunt in response. "Hm," he answered, his deep voice faint, opening his eyes ever so slightly. "Still here. Not sure for how much longer, but… I'm still here."

At these words, Shepard frowned, feeling a hard, sick lump rising in her throat, threatening to choke her, causing her eyes to water once more with the sudden start of stubborn, inevitable tears. "You have to stay with me, Anderson," she told him, forcing her voice not to shake as she spoke. "You have to… stick around so you can be my baby's godfather."

Anderson paused again at this, considering her request, before a crooked, pained smile began to spread across his face. "That sounds… nice," he finally told her, taking in a deep, shaky breath before letting out another wet, injured cough. "Gonna have to get used to the idea that… he'll probably be spoiled rotten."

"She," Shepard corrected, gently, her reddened lips cracking painfully into a small, lopsided smile at the tentative confirmation. "And I'll get over it. Eventually."

"She…" Anderson repeated, closing his eyes again as he gave another light cough, dark red blood speckling onto his chapped lower lip as he did so. "A little girl. Even better. I always wanted… to spoil a little girl."

Shepard smiled softly at these words, blinking to keep herself awake as she watched the scene playing out beneath them. "Anderson?" she asked again, making sure he was still alert, though she was barely able to keep her own eyes open as she did so. Her lashes were caked with blood, and they stuck together stubbornly every time she closed her eyes, making the exertion it took to peel them apart seem less and less worth the trouble every time she blinked. She could feel a dark, heavy blanket of exhaustion settling over her as the overpowering prospect of sleep began to overtake her, and she had to catch herself from nodding off a few times as she took another deep, conscious breath. "Anderson, stay with me," she pleaded weakly, her bloody fingers curling more tightly around the hand pressed against her stomach, her hoarse voice cracking as it faded in and out. "We're almost through this. We'll make it through this. Anderson?

"…Anderson?"


	35. WEEK NINETEEN

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.


	36. WEEK TWENTY, Pt.1

The soft sound of the heart monitor was the first thing Shepard registered as she began to slowly wake up.

At first, she could only stare blankly at the rusted silver ceiling of the hospital room, wondering if she had died in the Citadel with Anderson and this was some sort of futuristic afterlife, a post-mortal fever dream left behind by a dwindling nervous consciousness. She flexed her hands, slowly, testing her body, flinching as a shock of dull pain ran up her arms at the attempted motion, before wetting her dry, cracked lips, blinking a few times, and weakly attempting to lift her head to look around her. The bed she was laying in was soft, almost uncomfortably soft compared to the stiff mattress she had gotten used to on the Normandy, and when she looked down she noticed that her armour was gone, replaced by a thin, white hospital gown. Smoothing the covers down over herself, she watched as her hand coasted over the curve of her baby bump, coming to rest at the bottom, still a bit dazed, as if not quite sure if everything up to that point had been some sort of strange, violent dream or an equally strange and violent reality.

Shifting herself up in bed a bit more, she grunted softly, still in pain, before looking over, only to realize that she was not alone in this eccentric, makeshift hospital room. Miranda sat beside her bed in a rusted chair, likely stolen from some military camp, her elbow leaning on one of the armrests, her hand supporting her tired head, seeming to have fallen asleep in her seat waiting for Shepard to wake up. Shepard frowned, surprised and touched, considering letting her simply rest, before the overstrong smell of medical sav suddenly hit her senses, causing her to sneeze, instantly waking Miranda from her sleep. Miranda sat up straight in her seat, looking over at Shepard with wide, surprised eyes, blinking a few times, before she suddenly seemed to remember where she was and settled down a bit, letting out a soft, relieved sigh. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she told her, speaking quietly. "About time you woke up. People were starting to get worried about you."

Shepard faltered, unsure what to say in response to this. "Who?" she finally asked, shortly, hoping to get a full account of who had survived the final battle. Following this question, she paused, considering asking Miranda just how long she had been out for, before another thought suddenly hit her, causing her eyes to grow wide with concern. "Garrus," she exclaimed, sitting up in bed, the word bursting from her lips in a gush of worry. No sooner had she done so when she flinched at the sudden rush of movement, letting out a shout of pain as her burned, bandaged hand flew instantly to her ribcage, where she could feel an enormous, yellowing bruise under her fingers, pulsing with heat.

Leaning forward in her chair, Miranda shushed Shepard, taking one of her hands and coaxing her back down against her pillows before resting a hand against her thin shoulder, reassuring her quietly. "Garrus is fine," she told her, gently. "Last I heard he was headed back to Palaven to help with the planetary rebuild effort. Some of the local relays were damaged during the final pushes of the Reaper invasion, so he's having to take a bit of a longer route, but… he said to tell you when you woke up that he would advise Primarch Victus towards concentrating a majority of their scientific team's efforts on fixing the damaged relays, so he could come back to see you when you were feeling better." Sitting back in her seat then, she paused, looking suddenly sad as she regarded Shepard. "He wanted to see you before he left, but you weren't out of surgery yet," she added, regretfully. "He talked to one of the doctors, but he had to leave before you got out. But, Shepard…"

Pausing again, she bit down gently on her plush lower lip, a faint frown furrowing her pretty brow as she took a thin breath in. "We didn't tell him you were pregnant," she told her, speaking quieter this time. "The crew, I mean. It seems… ridiculous, now, not to tell him, but… we wanted to wait until you woke up to give him the news. Officially. With all the details. We thought that was what you would have wanted, and… we wanted to respect your wishes."

Shepard hesitated, surprised by this news, before wetting her lips, still a bit stunned, and taking a deep breath in. "What would you have told him if I'd died?" she asked, morbidly curious.

Miranda paused at the question, considering, her lips pursing thoughtfully in a soft line. "We likely wouldn't have told him anything," she finally answered, honestly. "We would have dressed you in military blues in the coffin, and… covered your stomach with flowers, I suppose. But—" Exhaling sharply, she shook her head, holding up her free hand and waving it dismissively. "That doesn't matter, anyway," she amended, quickly. "It's beside the point. The point is, you're alive, and we wanted to wait for you to decide on what to do with Garrus. But, Shepard…" Trailing off again, she faltered, her frown furrowing a bit deeper in concern. "Eighteen weeks," she said, as if she could not quite wrap her head around it. " _Eighteen weeks_ you kept it hidden from him. Shepard, how…?"

Shepard gave a soft, pained laugh at the question, letting out a small, hoarse cough as her cracked lips curved into an almost guilty smile. "You may not have noticed this," she finally answered. "But Garrus isn't the most observant person in the universe. Behind the scope of a rifle, he's the best marksman around, but in social interactions, he tends to be everywhere but in the moment." Coughing again, she raised her bandaged hand to her mouth, pausing as she cleared the dry, caked phlegm from her raspy throat. "He's a great guy," she went on, her voice cracking with effort. "But… easily distracted, you know. Not great at multi-tasking. One-track mind and… all that stuff." Letting out another few dry, husky coughs, these a bit louder than the last, she gripped the thin covers of her hospital bed, her other hand curling tightly around Miranda's, before finally relaxing her grip and letting out a gentle, exhausted sigh, leaning her head back against her pillows and allowing her eyes to flutter half-closed.

"Plus he has no idea it's even _possible_ for me to get pregnant," she added, the words coming out in a sigh of breath. "Not by him, at least. This type of thing isn't supposed to happen, remember? It's all this Reapertech bullshit holding me together, which he doesn't know about, and I'm not about to tell him." Taking a deep breath, she stared at the rusted metal ceiling, blinking a few times as she thought. "He just kind of… didn't think about it, I guess," she finally answered, honestly. "It just… never really occurred to him. I don't know why it would."

"Because—" Miranda started to answer, but quickly cut herself off, biting her lip, turning her blue gaze downward, deeming the conversation not worth fighting over. "It's not important," she determined, holding up a dismissive hand and shaking her head. "What's important is that you're alive and well. Or, more alive than well, I suppose, but… well, you're alive."

Shepard smirked at this fumbling sentiment, wincing as her face gave a sharp twinge of pain at the motion. "That's about the best I can hope for," she answered, honestly. "Alive." Opening her eyes again, she took a slow, deep breath in, staring at the ceiling of the makeshift hospital room as she shifted her hands across her abdomen, folding them together over the outline of her stomach as she let her breath out in a low, low sigh. "Everything hurts," she told Miranda, speaking in barely above a thoughtful murmur, causing Miranda to have to lean in to hear her clearly. "My head… everything." Pausing then, she unfolded her hands, sliding the tips of her bandaged fingers under the pleat of her hospital gown, feeling around for the spot on her ribcage where the Marauder's bullet had clipped her side. It took her a moment to find it, with barely more than a tiny scar remaining of the fateful wound, and she slowly retrieved her hand again, letting it drop back to her side as she looked over towards Miranda, her brow furrowing in concern. "How long was I out for?" she asked, a bit louder this time, though she still had to strain to speak over a hoarse undertone.

"About a week," Miranda answered, truthfully, turning her attention down towards the fraying material of her previously pristine uniform sleeves. "A little more than that. Enough time for us to finish taking care of the rest of the Reapers. Once you activated the Crucible, it was mostly just a matter of cleanup, but…" Taking a deep, thoughtful breath in, Miranda looked up again, pausing as her pretty features twisted in thought, trying to decide how best to explain what had happened after Shepard had blacked out on the Citadel. "It… got nasty towards the end," she finally told her, honestly. "Once the Reapers figured out we'd found their primary weakness, they started pulling out all the stops, playing every dirty trick possible. They kept trying to distract us with bigger and bigger abominations… some of which were…" She stopped, shuddering faintly, her gaze dropping sharply to the floor, uncomfortable with the thought of the subject. Then, taking a deep breath, she looked up at Shepard again, steeling her expression, preparing herself to go on.

"When they realized that wasn't going to work either, they tried to retreat, to try again in another Cycle," Miranda told her, letting out a long, tired exhale. "But we wouldn't let them." Pausing again, she stared at Shepard, before a small, gratified smile began to creep across her plush lips. "You would have been so proud of us," she added, confidently. "We chased the Reapers from London to Manhattan to Sydney to Brasília. One of the toughest fights was in Tokyo, but we fought them there, too, and we won."

"You fought the Reapers in Tokyo?" Shepard asked, her sore face splitting into a puckish grin.

"We did," Miranda answered, returning the gesture with a knowing smile of her own. "One brave turian frigate even chased a fleeing Reaper through the relay into Dark Space. We never did hear from them again, but we can only hope they gave it hell on the other side."

Shepard nodded in understanding, tracing the tip of her tongue along the line of her dry, cracked lips as she thought. "Who got me out of the Citadel?" she finally asked, changing the subject, frowning a bit as the bruise in her side gave another faint twinge.

"A whole team of people went up to retrieve you," Miranda answered her, matter-of-factly. "Myself included. Garrus was the one who actually found you, though. Figures." At this news, Shepard blanched, feeling a tight, sickening twist in her stomach as she thought back to her broken armour and shredded undersuit, but Miranda did not even seem to notice, instead turning her gaze down to the hand still sitting in her lap, frowning a bit and tilting her head to one side as she considered her fraying uniform with interest. "He wouldn't let anyone touch you until we got you to the medical camp," she added, a bit quieter, almost as an afterthought. "And even then he was hesitant to let you go. We only got him to hand you over when we told him you'd die without surgery." Letting out a soft, drained huff of breath, she turned her attention up towards Shepard again, regarding her with pensive, almost curious eyes. "It took us a while to find you, truth be told," she added. "There were… so many bodies up there. But Garrus wouldn't let us rest until we found you. So… we kept looking."

Pausing then, Miranda hesitated, her pretty brow furrowing a bit as if she had not truly considered the sight that had awaited her within the Citadel up to that point. "At first we thought you might have been among them," she added, soldiering onward, though Shepard could tell it was becoming a bit harder for her to talk about. "The rest of the bodies, that is. But it only took a bit of searching to find out you weren't. We did find you eventually, though, along with Anderson, and…" She faltered, trailing off, a faint frown touching her features as her free hand curled anxiously in her lap, the motion just subtle enough that Shepard barely noticed it. "There's a team… working on identifying all the people who died in the Citadel," Miranda went on, thoughtfully, causing Shepard to look up at her again, attentive. "Some of them could be identified from their… from simply… looking at them, I suppose, visual identification but… others…" Wetting her lips, she took a deep, shaky breath in, as if the subject were difficult for her to talk about. "Others required a DNA test," she said, determinedly, pushing herself onward through her discomfort. "It didn't take very long, just a minute or so for each, but with so many people…"

Trailing off again, Miranda's gaze dropped from Shepard's face to the floor, and she took in another long, shaking breath, steeling herself, convincing herself to keep talking for Shepard's sake. "We gave the families a week to claim their loved ones," she finally went on, raising her eyes to Shepard's again. "Those that had families to claim them. The others were all cremated… respectfully. Then we held a non-denominational ceremony to honour them." Biting down gently on her lower lip, she let out a soft huff of breath, reaching up with her free hand to tuck a restless lock of hair behind her ear, trying to think what else there was to add to her story. "I wish you could have seen it, Shepard," she told her, truthfully. "It was… wonderful. Very touching, very… it… it did them proud."

"What about Anderson?" Shepard asked, a bit more fervently this time. "Did anyone get Anderson out?"

"Yes, someone got Anderson," Miranda answered, offering a quick, affirmative nod. "And the Illusive Man. An unknown benefactor put in a request for his body – the Illusive Man's, that is – but we weren't willing to let it go without some sort of reassurance that whoever it was wasn't an enemy of the Alliance. They still donated to the rebuild effort, even so, but…" She frowned, her pensive gaze dropping a bit, sucking in on her plush lips as she passed the pad of her thumb over the back of Shepard's bandaged hand. "We couldn't trace the account," she added, thoughtfully, shaking her head. "It was… very strange."

"And what about Anderson?" Shepard repeated, firmer this time, drawing Miranda's attention back again, causing her to look up in surprise. "Did you get in contact with Kahlee Sanders? Did Anderson receive a proper military burial?"

At this, Miranda hesitated, seeming somewhat taken aback, her pretty brow furrowing in a faint, confused frown. "Why would we bury Anderson?" she finally asked, concerned. "We got in contact with Kahlee Sanders, but it was to tell her to come to Earth once the fighting stopped. Shepard, Anderson isn't dead. The Illusive Man is dead, but Anderson… Anderson is still alive."

Shepard faltered, shocked by this news, her eyes growing wide as she took a deep breath in, shifting to sit a bit straighter in bed, ignoring the sharp pain in her side as she did so. "Anderson is—?!" she started to ask, but did not get a chance to finish before the sound of the containment door opening reached their ears, causing both of them to look over towards the doorway as a bent, green-skinned salarian in a white coat shuffled into the makeshift hospital room. He peered between the two of them as he entered the room, his murky eyes narrowing as he glanced back down towards the datapad in his hand, as if unsure he had gotten the right treatment room.

"Commander Shepard?" the doctor asked, looking up at the two of them again, uncertain. Now that the door behind him was open, Shepard could see that her hospital room looked out on an unidentifiable, worn-torn landscape, with several other crude hospital stations like hers set up along a stretch of barren, rocky street. It was impossible to tell just by looking outside where in the world she was being cared for, but she figured that was an issue for another time. Turning her attention up towards the doctor, she watched as he stood at the foot of her bed, making soft throat-clearing noises as he perused intently through the information on his datapad, as if looking for something in particular amongst the data. "Commander Shepard?" the doctor asked again, slower this time, seeming to have finally arrived at her file.

"That's me," Shepard answered, warily. "I'm Commander Shepard."

The doctor peered up at her at the confirmation, clearing his throat softly again as he dragged the information on the screen of his datapad downward, skimming over the details. "Commander Shepard, I'm afraid I have some good and some bad news," he informed her, letting out a deep sigh as he pulled his datapad to his chest. "The good news is that you're alive, of course. You suffered a concussion, but other than that there was very little major trauma apart from some broken bones, though we've managed to set and heal those with no problem."

"What about Admiral Anderson?" Shepard asked, quickly, causing the doctor to look up at her over his datapad with slight, unmasked annoyance. "How is Anderson doing? Is he okay?"

"Admiral Anderson is on life support," the doctor answered, sighing deeply again. "We aren't certain if he's going to wake up, however. The good news for him is that he's still alive, if barely. The bad news is we're not sure for how long."

"And what was the bad news for Shepard?" Miranda asked, her hand curling anxiously tighter around Shepard's as she held her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The salarian doctor sighed yet again, returning his attention to his datapad and nervously clearing his throat. "The bad news for you, Commander Shepard," he told her, his eyes narrowing as he read the information, before turning his attention up towards her again, regarding her directly. "Is… very bad news, I'm afraid. I regret to inform you, Commander, that your foetus, your baby, is… braindead." At this grave news, the doctor frowned, seeming genuinely concerned for the first time since entering her hospital room, drawing his datapad in towards his chest as he took a deep, sympathetic breath in. "I'm sorry, Commander," he told her, speaking quieter now. "The trauma the baby suffered in the blast from the Reaper was… catastrophic. We tried to save it, but there was nothing we could do. Reviving a clinically braindead patient is just beyond the capability of modern medicinal practice."

"Braindead?" Miranda instantly asked, causing the doctor to look her way again, surprised. "You said it's braindead? Cerebral or stem dead?"

For a moment, the doctor simply stared at her, as if this had been the last thing he had been expecting to hear. Then, fumbling with his datapad again, he scrolled back up the blocks of tiny text as he tried to find the matching report. "Cerebral death," he finally answered, looking up at Miranda again, concerned. "I'm not sure how that's relevant, however. The baby's brain has ceased to function. Legally, it's no longer classified as living."

"Legally, but not medically," Miranda pressed, causing the doctor's frown to deepen. "The heart and the lungs, are they still functional? And the body, bodily, is it… is it okay?"

The doctor paused again, taken aback, his almond eyes widening as he blinked a few times, as if unsure he had heard her correctly. "Bodily, it's… fine, I suppose," he finally answered, speaking slowly, still seeming more than a bit concerned by her line of questioning. "Incredibly. Or, as fine as it can be, all things considered." Turning his attention back to Shepard then, he frowned again, his fingers curling tighter around the edge of his datapad. "Commander, we had some concerns about your baby's developmental health," he told her, solemnly, clearing his throat again, gently. "From what we could tell on our ultrasounds, it seems to be…" He hesitated, his sallow face twisting into a look of discomfort as he tried to find the most polite way to tell her the truth. "Severely malformed," he informed her, frankly. "So much so that we could not even determine a gender."

"It's a girl," Shepard told him, the words leaving her mouth without thinking, her voice barely above a dazed murmur as she stared at a spot on the wall somewhere past him. Her face felt numb, her arms and legs like marionette limbs, weightless, wooden, unable to move on their own, the sensation in her extremities gone even as she pulled her hands in towards her, cradling her stomach over the covers, which suddenly felt unsettlingly thin. Her stomach felt alien, hollow, and unnatural, misshapen, like a half-empty fishbowl sitting in her lap, as if it did not even belong to her anymore. Her entire body felt the same way, as if it belonged to someone else and she was simply floating above it all, observing the scene from the outside. Her brain had gone blank with shock, her ears numb, ringing, the sound of a shrill, tinny whistle, impossibly high, quiet, but still loud enough to block out every other thought, every other conversation going on around her.

The doctor frowned at this confirmation, taking in a thin, uncertain sniff of breath as he looked back down towards his datapad again, scanning once more over the medical information. "Commander," he said then, speaking slowly this time, letting out another deep sigh. "I don't mean to be insensitive, but… if you think it might be kinder, considering your baby's severe disfigurement and the fact that it—" Shepard looked up at him sharply at this, her reddened eyes cutting, causing him to stop short, stammering. "I apologize— _she_ ," the doctor corrected himself, quickly, clearing his throat. "She is now clinically braindead… if you would like for us to terminate, even now, at five months… we would be happy to do that for you."

Shepard stared at the doctor a moment longer, her breathing ragged as she inhaled through her nose, feeling her entire body trembling under her as a tear skated down her freckled cheek. "Don't you touch my fucking baby," she finally told him, her voice shaking violently, barely above a venomous hiss.

Shepard's bandaged hand tightened firmly around Miranda's at these words, squeezing it, causing Miranda to look down in surprise at the amount of angry strength she had despite her serious burn wounds. Then, looking up at the doctor again, Miranda watched as his sallow frown deepened at this frank dismissal, before he took a deep breath in, preparing to say something in return. Before he could respond, however, she got up quickly from her chair, shaking her head as she crossed the room to him, taking gentle hold of his arm and turning him towards the door of the containment. "This is not the best time," she informed him, her voice quiet despite her hard, telling tone. "Perhaps come back in a little while. The Commander needs some time to herself." Then, depositing the doctor outside the door, she waved him off, ignoring his stammering retorts as she shut the door firmly behind him, before taking a moment to catch her breath, letting out a short, sharp, drained exhale as she turned to move back to her chair again. Sitting down beside Shepard at the bed, she looked up into her friend's frozen face, reaching out to take hold of the hand she had previously let go of.

"Shepard…" Miranda began to say, but quickly trailed off again, dropping her gaze to her lap. She knew that there was nothing she could say to make the news any less painful, but she also knew that she still wanted to try, if only for Shepard's sake. "Shepard, I know… this might not be want you want to hear right now," she began again, speaking slower this time, her voice quiet, so as not to disturb her friend. "But there are… possible alternatives, if you wanted to look into… options outside of… conventional… medicinal practices." She hesitated, chewing her lower lip, unsure if she had said too much and overstepped her bounds, her thin free hand twisting anxiously in her lap as she waited impatiently for an answer. "It's… it's nothing… _illegal_ ," she added, even quieter now, as if afraid to even mention it. "In case you were worried about that. It's just not… entirely… orthodox, is all." She paused again, her brow furrowing, her hands growing white from wringing as she stared expectantly at Shepard, hoping for some kind of reaction. "I'm not entirely sure that it's safe," she continued, nervously, hearing her own voice start to shake with uncertainty. "Or even… that it will work at all. But I figure, with the possibilities at stake—"

"Miranda," Shepard said, quietly, cutting her off. Miranda stopped short, pressing her hands down flat in her lap as she raised her brows expectantly, waiting for an answer, but Shepard only took a deep, tired breath in. Then, looking over at her friend, Shepard considered her, staring at her for a long, silent moment, before reaching out a bandaged hand towards her and opening and closing her hand, indicative, motioning silently for Miranda to come in closer. Miranda instantly did as she was told, scooting her chair in as close to the hospital bed as she could manage, leaning over the side of the cot to best hear whatever Shepard had to say. "Get in with me," Shepard told her, weakly, causing Miranda to falter, surprised at the request.

"In with you?" Miranda asked, still speaking quietly, not wanting to upset her friend. "You mean— in the bed?" Shepard nodded, tiredly, indicating again with the open and closed hand, before Miranda let out a soft sigh, reaching down to pull off her boots and climbing up into the bed next to Shepard. Shepard shifted herself over towards the far end of the hospital cot, letting out a soft grunt of pain as she pressed in on her bruised ribs, before allowing Miranda to slide in behind her under the thin covers. Draping her arm around Shepard's form, Miranda fitted her knees into the crook of Shepard's, pulling her friend in close and realizing for the first time just how cold and thin she felt under her gown. Biting her lip, Miranda nestled her head against the hospital pillows, trying her hardest not to feel guilty as she snuggled in closer to Shepard, hoping to transfer some of her warmth over to her. Despite all the time she had spent on the Normandy, she had never once remembered to ask Shepard if she was eating correctly and taking care of herself, having been too focused on the baby to even think about the person carrying it.

"Thank you for being here, Miranda," Shepard suddenly told her, her voice hoarse, barely above a shaky whisper.

Miranda looked up, taken aback at the show of gratitude, trying hard to keep a lump of guilt from pushing its way up to her throat, choking her. "I'm only here because you were too stubborn to die," she whispered back, causing Shepard to give a soft, pained chuckle in return. Pausing then, Miranda moved her face forward until her nose and mouth rested on the back of Shepard's shoulder, thoughtful, before taking another soft, thin breath in. "And, Shepard?" she added, still speaking hesitantly.

"Hm?" Shepard asked, half-asleep.

Miranda hesitated again, wetting her lips, before letting out her breath in a soft exhale. "…Thank you for being here, too," she finally told her, quietly.

* * *

"Miranda," Shepard whispered, shaking her from her sleep.

Miranda groaned, turning her head to bury it deeper in the thin pillow of the hospital bed, waving a tired hand to shoo whoever was shaking her away. "It's still dark," she murmured, shaking her head. "There's still time to sleep. Go back to sleep."

"Miranda, we've got to go," Shepard told her, leaning in to whisper directly in her ear. "The doctors aren't around right now. There's no one to stop us from leaving."

Miranda frowned, now more alert, turning around in the bed to look up at Shepard, who stood directly over her, leaning eagerly over the edge of the hospital bed, looking as if she were about to burst if she stood still another moment longer. She had already retrieved her omni-tool sensor from the bedside table, and Miranda could see the thin metal band wrapped around the back of her hand from where she had put it on, ready to go. Her red hair was dishevelled, her hospital gown rumpled and lopsided, and when Miranda looked down, she realized that her friend's feet were bare, still wrapped in bandages, clearly too damaged to even feel the cold metal of the containment crate against her naked soles. Her frown deepening, Miranda looked up into Shepard's face again, watching as she kept glancing towards the hospital room door, as if expecting the bent salarian doctor to come through at any moment and stop her from leaving. "Shepard, no," Miranda insisted, shaking her head and reaching out to gingerly take hold of Shepard's thin wrist. As she did so, she could feel Shepard physically vibrating under her touch, wound up so tightly she could feel her heart racing even through her gloves. "We can't just run off like this," she told her, persistently. "You still need medical attention. You haven't even gotten your bandages off yet."

"I'm fine, Miranda," Shepard insisted, looking down at her, now seeming a bit exasperated. "Really. I've never felt better. I just need to go." Her fingers drummed against her leg as she spoke, tapping out an agitated, rhythmless tattoo as she glanced up towards the door again, pulling a bit on the hand that held her wrist, trying to will Miranda to get up. In return, Miranda sat up a bit straighter in bed, now fully awake, and shook her head, giving Shepard's wrist a short, light tug, getting her to pay attention again.

"Shepard, you're in shock," Miranda told her, frankly, letting out another soft, tired sigh. "As your friend, I can't in good faith let you leave the hospital when I know you're like this. You're going to get yourself even more hurt than you already are. I can't stand by and let that happen."

"Miranda, my baby is dead," Shepard answered, firmly, looking down at her again, all sense of good nature gone from her voice as she stared at her with wide, fervent eyes. "There's no reason for me to be here anymore. I'm going to leave whether you want me to or not." Taking a deep, shuddering breath in, she clenched her teeth, steeling herself, registering for the first time the words that were passing her lips. It was one thing to hear those words coming from a medical professional, someone impersonal, but to actually hear herself saying them was another experience entirely, one much harder than she thought it would be. "I thought, as my friend, you might want to come with me," she added, speaking slower this time, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "If you don't want to, you don't have to. But I'm leaving. I can't be here anymore. I just… can't."

Miranda hesitated, taken aback by this show of stark, brutal, honest emotion. Then, letting go of Shepard's wrist, she let out a soft sigh, pushing herself up and over the railing of the hospital bed before landing quietly on her feet and turning to face Shepard again, giving her a worried, telling once-over. "They're going to know you're leaving early," she told her, speaking quietly, watching as Shepard began to move around the room, collecting up what little get-well trinkets she could carry with her. "You're not exactly dressed like a civilian, and besides, I'm pretty sure visiting hours are over. They're going to know something's amiss when they see someone moving around out there in the dark."

"I don't care," Shepard answered frankly, shaking her head as she stuffed an unopened model kit into a stiff canvas bag that already held a box of hand-made hard candies. The get-well gifts were all dull, makeshift and compact, small terms of endearment her crewmates had been able to salvage from survivors selling their belongings for food money, and Shepard paused in the middle of the hospital room floor, holding a hand-stitched hanar to her chest as she looked around at the remainder of the gifts, trying to decide which ones she would be forced to leave behind. "They can try and stop me if they want," she added, dropping the stuffed hanar into the canvas bag as well. "It won't matter. I'm getting out of here." Turning in place, her gaze moved next across a tiny pair of knitted booties, and she crossed to them, picking them up and turning them over, before shaking her head and letting them fall back onto the floor again. Miranda's frown deepened as she watched Shepard work, moving busily across the confined space, before she crossed over to where her friend had been standing moments earlier, picking up the pair of booties she had let drop back to the hospital room floor and examining them, thoughtfully.

"Your baby's not dead, Shepard," Miranda told her, quietly, turning the booties distractedly over in her hands as she spoke. "She's just… braindead, is all. There's a difference, there… there is a quantifiable, medical difference—"

"Please stop, Miranda," Shepard whispered back, cutting her off, shaking her head as she turned to face her again. "Please. Let's just go. I have to get out of here, let's…" Letting out another sharp, shuddering breath, she brought her hand up to her head, allowing it to rest there for a moment, before shaking her head again and letting her hand drop back to her side once more. "Let's just go," she said, quietly, slinging the half-empty canvas bag over her shoulder. "Please, Miranda. Let's… let's just… go."

Miranda hesitated, considering Shepard for a long moment, noting the dead, defeated look in her eyes, the weary slump to her once-proud shoulders, the bandages covering a good portion of her burned, bruised and broken body, making her look like some sort of half-asleep mummy. Then, taking in a deep, tired breath in, she pulled up her omni-tool, accessing her personal bank account, and transferred a hefty sum to the post-war medical organization's charity account. "That should do all right," she said, closing out her omni-tool again. Picking up a nearby digital photograph Shepard had nearly overlooked, she tucked it and the knitted booties into the canvas bag on her friend's shoulder, before taking hold of Shepard's bandaged arm, looping her own arm carefully through it, and making her way to the door of the hospital room. Sliding the door open, she peered outside, checking to see if the coast was clear before turning to give Shepard an affirmative nod.

"Everyone seems preoccupied," she whispered. "Or possibly asleep. No one on patrol, at least for the time being."

"You're a good friend, Miranda," Shepard told her, quietly, giving the arm looped through hers a squeeze, causing Miranda's lips to curl faintly into a soft, almost guiltily satisfied little smile.

"I'm a terrible influence," Miranda whispered back, realistically. Then, giving Shepard's arm a short, gentle tug, Miranda pulled her out of the hospital room and into the open, checking to make sure Shepard remembered to hold her gown closed as they made their way quickly towards the edge of the camp, heading for the nearest makeshift circulation centre.

The walk from the hospital camp to the circulation centre was a long one, the rocky, uneven pathway lined on both sides by a collection of tents, most of which appeared to be military-issue. Dirty-faced families of all species huddled within the tents, some cooking their dinner out in the open by firelight, others having shut themselves inside with all their belongings, not wanting to risk being seen by other desperate survivors and having their things stolen out from under them. Despite almost a week having passed since the official end of the Reaper War, the sky over the military camp was still so choked with dust and debris that it was nearly impossible to tell if it were actually night or just appeared that way. Endless identical tents had been erected across the open, war-torn terrain, stretching as far as the eye could see, with the sound of low conversation and coughing buzzing in Shepard's ears as she walked, a dreary, unwelcoming cacophony of desolation and discontent. The bandages wrapped around Shepard's feet had begun to unravel before they even reached halfway to the circulation centre, but she said nothing about it, instead limping behind Miranda as best she could on her injured soles, causing her friend to have to slow down to accommodate her wounded gait.

Frowning faintly, Miranda paused, glancing down at Shepard's feet, before letting out a worried huff of breath and looking around for something amongst the rows of dirt-streaked tents. "We need to get you some shoes," Miranda told her, causing Shepard to give a grunt of disapproval, which only earned her a critical look.

"I don't need shoes," Shepard argued, shaking her head as she reached down to tug at her bandages, trying in vain to wrap them again. Miranda's troubled frown deepened as she watching Shepard's fruitless attempt to re-wrap her bandaged feet, before she finally gave a light tug on her arm, leading her over to the side of the path and pointing to a small volus family gathered around a fire, indicating for her to take a seat among them.

"Take care of my friend," Miranda told the two larger volus, who instantly turned their attention to Shepard, their beady, glowing eyes intent as they blinked a few times, surprised and curious. "I'll be back in just a moment. Make sure she doesn't go anywhere in the meantime."

Shepard turned to look at the four volus, who all stared back at her, seeming just as confused about having her dropped off in their care as she was. "Are you injured?" the first volus finally asked, speaking quietly, causing Shepard to look over at him, attentive. "You look like you just came from the hospital camp. Do they know you're walking around in your condition?"

"I'm okay," Shepard lied, shortly, glancing up over the volus' shoulder towards where Miranda had disappeared to. "They needed the bed, I… I'll be okay. Just a couple minor scrapes and bruises, is all." Frowning a bit, she tucked her thin knees together, huddling in on her underfed form as she shifted a bit closer to the fire, trying to benefit from its warmth. She could hear the two younger volus huffing and snuffling a few feet away from her, both of them staring intently at her as she warmed herself by the light of their fire, but she decided to ignore their stares, instead focusing all her attention on the flames ahead. She guessed the children were likely twins, from their similar size and matching exosuits, but she did not want to speak out of line and offend any of them in case she was incorrect, or in case they ended up not being children at all. "What brings your family to Earth?" she asked, turning her attention back to the first volus, figuring him to be the family patriarch.

"Business," the volus answered, matter-of-factly, sucking in a breath as he lifted his head. "I sell specialized weaponry and weaponry upgrades. It's a lucrative business, all things considered… so long as you have reliable suppliers." Taking in another deep breath, he tilted his head, the watchful beams of his eyes narrowing critically in thought. "And for suppliers to be reliable, you need reliable transportation," he added, now sounding much less enthused. "Which means… inter-systemary transportation."

"…Oh," Shepard answered, frowning in return as she realized what he was trying to say. "So… I guess you haven't been doing much business since the local relays shut down for repairs, then."

"Not as much as I would have hoped," the volus answered, truthfully. "But it's enough to keep my family afloat, and that's the best I can hope for right now. At least until our ticket comes up and we can go back to Irune."

"Your ticket?" Shepard asked, confused. "What do you mean, 'your ticket comes up'?"

"Would you like some supper?" the second volus spoke then, cutting the conversation short, causing Shepard to look up at her in mild surprise. This was the first time she could remember ever meeting a female volus, though she figured she could have seen any number of them in passing during her visits to the Citadel, as there was no noticeable difference between the female volus' suit and the suit of her male counterpart. Reaching forward to the pan sizzling over the open fire, the female volus tipped it to one side, pouring a bit of soupy, bubbling black-grey liquid into a palm-sized bowl. "You should eat something," she told Shepard, holding the bowl out towards her, insistent. "Especially for your baby's sake."

"Darla, that's _rude_ ," the male volus insisted, speaking in barely above a hiss, shaking his head as he held out one stubby hand towards the bubbling bowl, stopping her from handing it over. "You can't just _assume_ the human is pregnant. Besides, you don't know if she can even eat that. You don't want to hurt her accidentally with your terrible cooking."

Darla Voss huffed at this accusation, pulling the bowl of broth in towards her as she vibrated agitatedly at her husband. Then, turning her attention towards Shepard again, she set the bowl of broth aside, hardly seeming to notice as Shepard's eyes followed it, curiously, before returning to her masked face, fully attentive once more. "You'll have to excuse Hamil," Darla told her. "He isn't used to having houseguests. We've only been on Earth for less than a year, you know. Not enough time to learn all the customs." Letting out a long, dejected sigh then, she lowered her glowing gaze, her stout hands coming to fold together in her lap as she stared at the dusty ground at her feet. "We hadn't even fully settled in yet when the Reapers attacked," she added, sadly. "It's not easy getting used to these things, especially with our children here with us. We're still adjusting to it all."

Hamil Kerr grunted at this, frustrated, causing Shepard to look his way again as he settled down a bit further in his seat on the ground like a fat bird ruffling its dewy feathers. "If our damn ticket would just come up, it wouldn't be such a problem," he grumbled. "I have no idea what's taking so long. We put in our request the first day the shuttle became available. I know there's a lot of requests coming in, but you'd think they'd honour first come, first serve."

"Shepard!" Miranda's voice suddenly rang out from behind them, causing Shepard to turn sharply towards the sound, attentive. Seeing Miranda standing a few yards away, Shepard pushed herself unsteadily back to her half-bandaged feet, offering the volus family a nod of thanks before turning and heading towards where Miranda stood. Her arms appeared to be full of what looked to be threadbare material, but as Shepard got closer, she could see that what she held was not just material, but secondhand clothing. "This is the best I could do on a moment's notice," Miranda said, handing over a pair of pants, which Shepard was eagerly quick to slip into. "They're not maternity, I apologize, but I did remember to get you a belt. Better that than nothing, I suppose, though I figured you wouldn't want any underclothes, considering…"

She trailed off, making a sour face, before deciding it was better not to finish that thought and handing over a worn-looking shirt, watching as Shepard pulled it on over her hospital gown and removed the gown from under her shirt, sliding it out the bottom. "I look like a frigate," Shepard sighed, pulling the shirt down as far as it would go, making a face as it stretched skin-tight across the curve of her swollen stomach. Smoothing the material a few times over her stomach, she sighed again, just as frustrated, before holding out her hands towards Miranda again for the next piece of secondhand clothing. Miranda frowned as she handed the threadbare sweater over next, watching as Shepard pulled it on over the too-tight shirt, zipping the zipper up to her neck and flipping the hood up, hiding her face from view.

"It's a bit small," Miranda apologized, noting the obvious curve of her stomach under the material of the shabby hoodie. "It was all I could find on the spur of the moment. Most of what was being sold was men's clothing… slacks and dress shoes, primarily. I suppose people don't have much need of formal wear these days."

Shepard huffed, distractedly smoothing down the front of the hoodie, as if hoping that might help somewhat with the conspicuous curve of her stomach. Then, giving up the effort, she shook her head, letting one hand drop to her side while the other rested tiredly against the weary small of her back. "They're going to wish they'd kept those when the only jobs available are for expensively-dressed people with Engineering Degrees," she commented, darkly. "You won't be able to get a job for anything after this War. That's what always happens. Prices go up, well-paid labour demand goes down."

"Don't you have an Engineering Degree?" Miranda asked, raising one eyebrow as she set a pair of well-worn boots down in front of Shepard, holding out a hand to help her balance as she stepped into them, shuffling her bandaged feet down into the ragged soles.

"I do," Shepard answered, blowing out a short, sharp breath to flip her bangs out of her eyes. "And look at me. I joined the Navy. And that was before the War." Finished fitting her feet inside, she started to bend down to tie her boots, but Miranda quickly stopped her, holding out a hand towards her before ducking down to tie the laces, herself. Shepard frowned, her hand returning to the small of her back, watching as Miranda finished with the laces before straightening again and running a hand back through her hair, taming it back down a bit. "I can tie my own damn shoes, Miranda," Shepard told her, embarrassedly, speaking just loud enough for Miranda to hear her. "I'm not handicapped, just… a little bruised, is all. I don't need you to do everything for me. I'm a Navy Commander, y'know, it's… it's _humiliating_ to be treated like I can't do anything for myself anymore."

"Shepard, you're five months pregnant," Miranda returned, looking up at her and letting out a long, exasperated sigh. "You don't need to be a hero anymore. You activated the Crucible to defeat the Reapers – let other people do things for you for once."

Shepard opened her mouth, preparing to object, but then, after a moment, she closed it again, simply letting out a frustrated huff and crossing her arms across her chest. "Fine," she muttered, reluctantly. "But – no more tying my shoes, okay? Let me retain a little dignity."

"Deal," Miranda agreed, amenably. Then, reaching over to Shepard again, she took hold of her bandaged arm once more, sliding her own arm through the bend in her elbow and pulling her friend in close to her side.


	37. WEEK TWENTY, Pt.2

It was a slow, limping walk the rest of the way to the circulation station, but it did not take nearly as long as Shepard had suspected it might. She and Miranda could already see the outline of the building by the time they reached the edge of the refugee encampment, and by the time they reached the crest of the hill overlooking the camp, they could almost make out the building's details through the lingering dust and smoke. The circulation station was a long, patched-together building erected on the edge of a cliff, with what looked to be magnetic docking arms stretching out over the chasm, clearly waiting for a large craft of some sort to return and dock in its makeshift bay. Shepard was almost surprised not to see the Normandy docking there, but she figured Joker had probably taken her somewhere safer than the equivalent of a truck stop in the middle of a war-torn wasteland. Several much smaller spacecrafts had been parked in random formation in what appeared to be some sort of dusty, provisional landing strip off to one side of the circulation station, and Shepard could not help but frown a bit at the strangeness of the setup. She supposed she had to take the conditions they were working with under consideration, but it still felt more than a little bizarre to see the otherwise proud-looking civilian spaceships lined up like used cars in a parking lot.

The interior of the station was much cleaner than Shepard had anticipated, with level, carpeted flooring, artificial lighting, and even some semblance of air conditioning. She could smell the aroma of artificial flowers being pumped through the filtration system, likely a small attempt to cover the reek of mud, sweat, and death, and she had to stifle a sneeze at the sudden, unexpected change of sensory stimulation. A line of people of assorted species stretched almost all the way to the entryway doors, and when Shepard craned her neck a bit, she realized that what they were all waiting on was what appeared to be some sort of busy registration desk. A few yards to the right of the registration window, built into the same wall, was a large, closed set of bulletproof glass double-doors, leading out into a similarly-structured walkway, which she figured likely led out to the docking bay with the empty arms she had noticed earlier. Above the panelled walkway hung a digital sign, large enough to be read from the far end of the circulation station, which stated in bold, blocky letters: NEXT SHUTTLE: TICKET 437-872.

Shepard frowned, recognizing the word, before turning her attention back to the registration desk, noting a second, nearly identical sign hanging between the three active windows. The sign above the registration desk read CURRENT TICKET: 2638, but, as Shepard watched, the sign above the window began to change, and within the span of barely seconds it had gone up another two ticket numbers. "This is gonna take all bloody day," Miranda sighed, pulling up a projected digital clock on her omni-tool and checking the time. According to her watch, it was nearly four in the morning, though Shepard figured there was no way to know the difference one way or the other, as the sky outside likely looked the same no matter what time it was.

Miranda's omni-clock read seven-fifteen by the time they finally reached the registration desk, and Shepard could barely keep her eyes open as she limped along behind Miranda, who, to her credit, seemed more awake than ever as she planted her hands firmly on the desk, staring in at the bored-looking registration attendant with sharp, determined eyes. "We're here to purchase a shuttle ticket," Miranda announced, straightforwardly. "We need one that leaves this week at the latest. Ideally today, if we can manage it."

The shuttle attendant did not even react to this, blinking slowly as she stared back at Miranda, as if she were so used to hearing this request she could not be bothered to look surprised. "The Homeworld Shuttle is scheduled to leave only once a month, ma'am," she explained, resignedly, leaning back in her chair and letting out a soft, tired sigh as she spoke. "There's three shuttles in rotation, but the launch is still monthly, to give each shuttle time to make its rounds and return to the Local Cluster. Each round trip is estimated to take about three months, with FTL travel and limited relay use taken into consideration, but we haven't actually completed any rounds as of yet so that estimate may be slower or faster than the actual trip." Pointing to a digital map stationed directly to the right of the window, she watched as Miranda and Shepard took a few steps over towards it, inspecting the projected route, curiously.

"Each shuttle's FTL core is able to sustain only enough Eezo to make a round trip to the closest surrounding planetary systems," the attendant went on, seeming almost bored with the repetition of her spiel. "Which means the route goes from the Local Cluster to the Exodus Cluster, then from there to the Horse Head Nebula, the Annos Basin, the Krogan DMZ, the Apien Crest, the Atheon Cluster, the Arcturus Stream, and from there back to the Local Cluster. Anyone with a planetary destination further than that has to arrange to get a ride from one of those systems, or wait until the local relays are functional enough to allow more homebound traffic to travel through again."

"We only need to get as far as the Horse Head Nebula," Miranda determined, pointing to the corresponding spot on the reference map and turning her attention to the attendant again. "That's one of the systems covered by your Homeworld Shuttle route. If we could only get a spot on this upcoming shuttle—"

"That shuttle's been booked solid for over a week," the attendant told her, cutting her off short with a shake of her head and pointing to the ticking number sign overhead. "Overbooked, in fact. We had to break up some families, move the overflow onto the next outbound shuttle. Our last outbound shuttle left a week ago, so the next one won't be available for at least another three weeks, and nobody who doesn't have a matching ticket is getting on that shuttle. That's just it. I'm sorry, ma'am."

"I don't think you understand, _ma'am_ ," Miranda told her, retrieving her hand, now getting a bit annoyed. "We're not just civilians. We're Alliance military, and this—" Reaching over to Shepard, she took her by the arm, pulling her over into the attendant's line of vision, causing Shepard to look up, startled, before dropping her head again, hiding her face in her hood once more. "This is Commander Shepard," Miranda informed her. "Hero of the Alliance, and saviour of the _entire galaxy_."

At this assertion, the attendant paused, staring intently at Shepard and giving her a slow, telling once-over, not even bothering to hide her scepticism as her gaze passed over her visibly expectant stomach. " _This_ is Commander Shepard?" she asked, turning to look at Miranda again. "Ma'am… this woman is clearly pregnant. Do you honestly expect me to believe that this could _possibly_ be the real Commander Shepard?" Clicking her tongue disapprovingly, the attendant shook her head, folding her hands in front of her on her desk with a critical, put-upon little sigh. "Do you have any idea how many redheads I have coming through here _every day_ claiming to be Commander Shepard?" she asked, looking between Miranda and Shepard, hardly seeming to notice as Shepard began to turn away from the desk, starting to leave the conversation. "I've seen good wigs, bad wigs… some people even went so far as to dye their own hair. Some don't even bother trying, they just think I'll let them through on their good word."

Letting out another sigh, pointedly louder this time, the attendant tapped her thumb against her opposite knuckle, twisting her mouth to one side in a frown as she turned her full attention to Miranda again. "I don't have anything against you, personally," she explained, matter-of-factly. "I've simply come across so many so-called _Commander Shepards_ this past week that I'm starting to doubt Commander Shepard ever actually existed."

"But this _is_ Commander Shepard," Miranda insisted, frustrated, taking hold of Shepard's arm to pull her forward again, stopping her from leaving the registration desk. "This is the _real_ Commander Shepard. Can't you tell? Don't you know the real thing when you see it?" Reaching up to take hold of her hood, Miranda started to pull it back, but Shepard quickly stopped her, putting her hands to her head, keeping her from pulling her hood down to reveal her face to the attendant.

"It's not worth it, Miranda," Shepard told her, shaking her head, speaking in barely above a murmur. "It doesn't matter. They won't let us through."

"We have to at least try—" Miranda started to insist, reaching up to take hold of her hood again, but Shepard pressed her hands firmly against her head, keeping her hood in place, not letting Miranda pull it back to show her face to the waiting attendant.

" _No_ , Miranda," Shepard insisted, more adamantly this time. "I don't want to do this anymore. I'm done. I don't want to use my name to get things anymore." Letting her hands fall away from her head, she tucked them instead into the pockets of her hoodie, letting out a soft, tired sigh of breath as she turned away from the circulation desk. "I'm through with this," she added, wearily. "I'm done. Let's just go back to the refugee camp—"

"Commander Shepard?" The voice was familiar, painfully so, and Shepard did not even have to turn around to know who it was who had addressed her. "Commander Shepard? Is that really you?"

"Fuck," Shepard breathed, quietly, barely daring to move. For a split second, she had the distinct urge to stand as still as possible, hoping that perhaps he could only see by motion, and if she stood stationary long enough he might lose track of her and go away. Then, realizing how ridiculous this hope was, she took a deep breath in, straightening her shoulders, before tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and turning to face her inevitable, oncoming acquaintance.

Conrad Verner beamed at her from across the crowded circulation plaza, and when he saw her looking his way, his smile grew even wider, and he raised an eager hand, waving her over, in case she had missed him the first time. "It _is_ you!" Verner exclaimed, breathlessly, running up to meet her across the plaza, causing Miranda to take a step back from the two, startled by his enthusiasm. "I thought I recognized you. What are you doing out here? I would've thought you'd still be in intensive care after what happened out there on the battlefield." Taking a moment to catch his breath, he gave her a quick, inclusive once-over, noting the tail of the bandage sticking out of the top of her boot before returning his gaze to her face, elated. "How are you doing?" he asked, jerking his chin indicatively towards the nasty bandaged cut still healing over her eyebrow. "Are you still hurt? Are you okay?"

"Conrad, I… I'm fine," Shepard answered, barely trying to keep up with his zeal as she took a frazzled, bandaged hand from her pocket, tucking a lock of overgrown hair anxiously behind her ear. "I'm really okay. It's not a big deal, really, I just need to—"

"Oh my god," Verner breathed, cutting her off as he stared openly down at her stomach under her sweatshirt. Seeing this, Shepard quickly pulled the front of her hoodie a little looser, attempting to make her bump less obvious, to little avail. "Oh my god, you really are pregnant! Oh… you know, when you first told me, I thought maybe you were just pulling my leg, but no, oh…" Pressing his fist against his mouth, Verner let out a low, excited keening sound, his gaze locked intently on her abdomen, before pulling his hand away from his mouth and holding out both hands towards her stomach. "Can I feel it, Commander?" he asked, taking a step forward towards her. "Can I feel it kicking? Is it kicking yet?"

"Don't touch me, Conrad," Shepard told him, sharply, causing him to instantly retrieve his hands, taking the same wary step backwards.

"Sorry, Commander," Verner apologized, his voice dropping quickly to a low mumble as he began to wring his hands guiltily in front of him. "I just got a little excited was all. Y'know? Sometimes… I forget we're not actually that close of friends." Letting out a heavy sigh, he dropped his hands awkwardly back to his sides, as if unsure what to do with them now that his main objective had been denied. "It's just… great to see you looking so good, is all," he added, trying to salvage the conversation, to little avail. "What with, especially with your… your pregnancy and all. You're, you've got that—you're glowing. You look incredible."

"Hm," Shepard returned, noncommittal.

"Conrad, we need a spaceship," Miranda cut into the conversation then, causing Verner to look her way now, seeming a bit thrown by the change of subject despite his unsure smile still lingering faintly. "Ideally one with an FTL drive. You wouldn't happen to know where we could find something like that, would you?"

At this request, Verner hesitated, a bit surprised, before a wide smile suddenly split his enthusiastic features and he turned to look over at Shepard again, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the docking lot. "Well, I've got a ship with an FTL drive," he told her, brightly, as if she had been the one to make the request. "I bought it from a volus secondhand ship salesman right after you told me to invest in a ship. You remember? When you told me to do that, when we met up on the Citadel? I took your advice to heart, Commander." Retrieving his hand again, he let out an excitable huff of nervous laughter, starting to wring his hands in front of him as he tried his hardest to keep his gaze from flicking back to Shepard's stomach. "Lucky I did, huh?" he asked, eagerly, hoping for praise. "It's pretty lucky I listened to you. Especially now that you're here, needing it, and I've got one for you to use—"

"That's great, Conrad," Shepard sighed, holding up a hand, cutting his excited rambling short. "I'm glad you listened to my advice."

"We're really gonna need to use that ship, Conrad," Miranda pressed, causing him to glance her way once more before returning his attention to Shepard again.

"Well that's wonderful, Commander," Verner answered, his eager smile beaming wider. "Just tell me where you two need to go and I'll get you there right away. No problem."

"Conrad, that's… that's not what she meant," Shepard told him, frowning faintly at his misunderstanding. "What she meant was, we don't need a pilot. We just need to borrow the ship… without you."

At this statement, Verner hesitated, not seeming to fully comprehend what she was saying for a moment. Then, slowly, his face began to drop, the eager, wide-eyed expression dissipating into a look of almost troubled confusion. "What do you mean, you don't need a pilot?" he asked, his voice starting to waver, uncertain. "I thought you said you wanted my ship. I thought you said… you needed my help. You wanted me to help you leave Earth, that's… that's what you said—"

"Conrad," Miranda said, loudly, cutting him off. Moving forward towards him, she took him by the shoulder, her grip just forceful enough to get his attention as she turned him away, leading him off into a private conference a few feet away from where Shepard stood. Verner frowned, now thoroughly confused, looking between Miranda and Shepard, as if he were not sure what had just happened but feared whatever might happen next. "Listen, Conrad – is your name Conrad?" Miranda asked him, forcing geniality as she released his arm, letting him turn to face her fully. Verner nodded, listening intently, his expression still a bit forlorn as he glanced over his shoulder towards where Shepard waited, watching as she stared thoughtfully down at the floor, digging the toe of her boot into the thin carpeting. Realizing he was distracted again, Miranda tapped him lightly on the cheek, getting his attention again, causing him to look her way intently now, his blue eyes wide as he waited for an explanation.

"Listen, Conrad," she started again. "We need this ship for a top secret mission. We can't tell you what it is because if anyone found out you knew about it, it could seriously compromise the outcome of our mission. I know that sounds bizarre—Conrad." Taking hold of his chin, Miranda turned his head to face her again, jerking his attention away from Shepard, who was checking warily over her shoulder, making sure no one had seen her and recognized her. "I know that sounds bizarre," she repeated, letting out a soft, patient sigh. "But in all honesty your discretion may very well end up being a matter of life and death for Shepard's baby." Thinking quickly on her feet, Miranda glanced up towards, Shepard, checking on her, before looking conspicuously over her shoulder, as if expecting someone to be listening in on their conversation. "Listen to me, Conrad," she told him, speaking lower now, turning back to face him again. "Listen to me carefully. There are people who don't want Shepard to have this baby. People who would hurt her if they knew she was still carrying it."

"That's terrible," Verner answered, startled, frowning deeply at the thought. "Who would want to hurt a baby?"

"They're bad… very bad people, Conrad," Miranda told him, shaking her head, dismissively. "The point is, if you knew where we were going, and you were captured and tortured by these people to give that information, they could very well come for us and kill both Shepard and her baby. So—Conrad." Snapping her fingers, she got his attention again, causing him to look away from Shepard, who was playing idly with the drawstrings on the hood of her jacket, waiting for Miranda to finish. "Do you understand why we need you to stay here, while we take your ship to our destination?" she asked.

Verner instantly nodded in response, the expression sincere, almost exaggerated, before pulling a fist up to his chest and pressing it valiantly against his heart. "I'll keep the Commander's secret," he told her, speaking in barely above a whisper. "Nobody's gonna torture it out of me. You go ahead and take the shuttle. I'll wait here until you two return and keep an ear to the ground for those people."

"Good," Miranda answered, speaking normally now, reaching over a hand to pat him agreeably on the shoulder. "I'm glad we got that figured out." Then, turning her attention back to Shepard, she jerked her chin towards her, indicative, causing Shepard to look up from where she had been distractedly wrapping her hoodie drawstring around her index finger. Making her way back over to Shepard, she offered her a small, knowing smile, which Shepard had to work hard not to return as she turned her attention up towards Verner, who came to stand in front of the two, his hands folded dutifully behind him.

"The ship is ready to go, Commander," Verner informed her, devotedly. "There's enough freeze-dried food in there to last about a month, and I topped off the core with Eezo just a couple days ago, right before it got redlisted. The FTL drive should take you as far as the Argus Rho Cluster, if you make a straight shot with no detours."

"Redlisted?" Shepard asked, frowning, turning to glance back towards Miranda.

"Restricted access," Miranda explained, shortly, propping a patient hand on her hip. "The damaged relays require indeterminate amounts of Element Zero to regain operation. Until they've figured out how much Element Zero is needed, the material has been put on civilian lockdown." Crossing her arms over her chest, she glanced out towards the civilian docking bay, scanning thoughtfully over the line of waiting ships, as if trying to determine which one might be Verner's. "Only people with a verified affiliation to the relay repair effort are allowed access to the material anymore until further notice."

"The relay repair effort and the homeworld shuttles," Verner corrected, causing Miranda to glance over towards him with a look of faint annoyance. "The waiting lists on those shuttles are backed up for months, though. There's going to be a lot of people left without homes on Earth for a long time."

"We know," Shepard answered, nonplussed, letting out a soft sigh as she twisted the pull-tie of her hoodie between her thumb and forefinger. "We tried to get a ride on one."

"And they wouldn't let you through?" Verner asked, seeming sincerely offended by this. "Did you tell them you were Commander Shepard?"

At this, Shepard looked up at him, her expression an incredulous deadpan as she paused momentarily in playing with the pull-tie of her hoodie. "You know, it didn't occur to me," she finally answered, monotone. "Maybe I should try that next time."

Verner nodded in agreement, seeming to completely miss her sarcasm, before reaching to dig into his pocket and fishing out what looked to be a small, flat rectangular box. The knickknack's inner chip was clearly visible through the transparent yellow plastic exterior, with a tiny, inactive light built into one end and what looked to be some kind of tag or keychain attached to the other. "Here's my starting key," Verner said, holding out the small plastic rectangle for Miranda to take. "Just stick it in the slot on the dash of the craft and push the button above it, and the ship should start, no problem. My security code is written on the tag." Here, he pointed to the keychain hanging off the end of the key, causing Miranda to twist it around in her hand to get a better look. "I've had the craft for a little bit, but… I've never been much good with numbers," he explained, giving a light, offhanded chuckle as he tucked his hand back in his pocket again. "Figure it's better to keep it on me than risk forgetting it."

"Makes sense," Miranda conceded, closing her hand securely around the key again. Then, turning to look at Shepard, she paused, watching her expectantly, as if waiting for her to say something to close the conversation. Verner, too, had turned to look at Shepard by now, and she frowned, feeling their eyes on her, shifting anxiously on her feet as she tried to think of what else there was to say that had not already been said.

"Thanks, Conrad," Shepard finally said, awkwardly. "For the ship."

"Of course, Commander," Verner answered, seeming perfectly pleased with this response. Then, taking a step in closer to them, he glanced over his shoulder, as if expecting someone to be standing there, before leaning in to the two of them and whispering, "Can you at least tell me if it's a boy or a girl?"

"We don't know yet," Miranda answered, quickly, causing Shepard to look up in surprise, watching as Verner's hopeful face wilted a little at this response. He seemed less disappointed by this news than resigned, however, and she could not help but wonder what Miranda had told him in confidence that made this bizarre hush-hushedness seem like a logical, feasible answer. "We figured it would be safer for everyone involved if we didn't determine the baby's gender," Miranda went on. "We wanted as little information as possible out in the open about the baby before it arrives… you know." Glancing over her shoulder again, she leaned in closer to Verner, conspiratorial, causing him to lean in further to meet her, raising his blonde brows as he hung onto her every word. "You never know who's listening," she told him, quietly, her tone solemn. "And who might be wanting that information in order to use it against us."

"Oh, true," Verner agreed, nodding along. "That's true. Sorry, didn't mean to blow your cover." Then, leaning away from Miranda again, he tucked his hands in his pockets once more, trying to keep his gaze away from Shepard's stomach, to painfully little avail. "I kind of hope it's a little girl," he added then, still speaking quietly. "A little Commander Shepard in pigtails… that would be so cute." Then, offering Shepard one last, amicable smile, he turned away from the two of them, starting to head towards the double-doors at the far end of the plaza.

Shepard faltered, watching him walk away, feeling that there had to be something else she could say to make the parting a bit less awkward. Then, "Hey, Conrad," she called him back, just loud enough to get his attention, causing him to instantly turned around again at the sound of her voice. Verner raised his brows, intent, eagerly waiting for whatever the Commander was going to say next, and, biting her lip, Shepard took a deep breath, steeling herself, before crossing the short distance over to Verner and pulling him in for a quick kiss on the cheek. Verner blushed bright red at the gesture, his eyes growing wide with surprise as his entire face turned the colour of a ripe strawberry, an enormous smile spreading across his cheeks as he looked up at Shepard in elated disbelief. "Thanks," Shepard told him, offering him a weary half-smile, the best she could manage under the circumstances.

"Anytime, Commander," Verner stammered, holding up a hand to touch the place on his cheek where her lips had been, only to stop himself halfway, dropping it back to his side again, not wanting to risk wiping off her kiss. Then, turning away from the two of them again, he let out another soft, disbelieving little laugh, beaming even wider as his hands fidgeted happily at his sides, as if he did not even know what to do with himself anymore.

Turning back around to Miranda, Shepard tucked her hands once more into the pockets of her hoodie, taking a deep, patient breath as she watched Miranda inputting navigational equations into her omni-tool, charting out a potential course. Then, finished with her calculations, Miranda collapsed her omni-tool again, turning her attention back to Shepard with a look of determination. "This is perfect," she told her, speaking in a low voice, just loud enough for Shepard to hear her. "If the ship has enough Eezo to last to the Argus Rho Cluster, that should be more than enough for us to get to the Minuteman Station in the Horse Head Nebula."

"The Horse Head is much closer than the Argus Rho," Shepard agreed, thoughtfully. Then, pausing, she frowned a bit as she realized what else Miranda had said. "What's the Minuteman Station?" she asked, confused.

Miranda shook her head at this question, holding up a patient, dismissive hand. "It's not important," she answered, quickly, playing idly with the starting key between her fingers as she spoke. "What _is_ important is that after we reach the Horse Head Nebula, we should still have more than enough Eezo still left over to last us back to the Local Cluster, if we're lucky. If you want to come back, that is." Turning then, she indicated for Shepard to follow along behind her as she started for the entryway of the station, passing through the double-doors as they headed out towards the civilian docking ground. Miranda's gait slowed a bit as she looked out over the field of crafts, her hand clenching anxiously around the starting key as she scanned for the spacecraft Verner had specified, before seeming to get a glimpse of something and starting once more at an eager pace.

"Why wouldn't I want to come back?" Shepard asked, half-jogging to keep up with Miranda's long-legged gait, thankful it was still too dark out for anyone to see how outlandish she looked with her messy hair and ill-fitting clothes. Miranda shrugged in response, shaking her head as she skimmed the field of crafts for Verner's ship, before letting out a short, soft sigh and glancing back towards Shepard again, making sure she was keeping pace.

"I don't know," Miranda answered, truthfully. "I figured we could regroup with the Normandy after all is said and done, if you wanted, but—"

"Who of the Normandy is even left, apart from you?" Shepard asked, following along, finishing her train of thought. "Garrus went back to Palaven, I'm sure Tali went back to the Migrant Fleet…"

"Vega and Ashley have vanished," Miranda added, frowning in return. "I don't know what became of them. Last I heard, Vega was asking around about you at the hospital camp, but when I tried to find him the other day nobody had seen hide nor hair of him for a few days at least."

"Ashley probably went to find her family," Shepard reasoned, nodding along in agreement. "Make sure they were doing okay after the War. Wrex…?"

"Went back to TuChanka," Miranda filled in. "Along with Grunt and Bakara. Javik went to help with the relay repair effort… with surprisingly little bitter complaint, might I add."

"Liara?" Shepard asked, hopefully.

"Liara disappeared after the final battle also," Miranda told her, her pretty frown deepening in concern. "Something about having to maintain the Shadow Broker network. Regrouping after the war, or… something of that nature. I'm not entirely sure how her operations network functions, but it sounded very important." Pausing in her search momentarily, Miranda glanced down towards her omni-tool sensor, clenching her hand to activate it and pulling up her messaging system, making a quick skim through the most recent messages before closing it once more with a short, thwarted sigh. "She said she would keep in contact, but I haven't heard from her," she added, turning her attention back up towards Shepard again, half-apologetic. "I did hear from Feron, however. He said she was en route to… wherever their ship is stationed now. That was two days ago." Faltering then, she made a face, as if realizing for the first time how entirely unhelpful she sounded. Then, shaking her head, she let out a soft huff of breath, resting her hand against her hip again, thoughtfully. "I don't think she would just leave, though," she added, optimistically. "She'll be back."

"I hope so," Shepard answered, letting out a soft, disappointed sigh of her own. Tucking her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, she frowned, turning her attention towards the ground as she tried to think of any other members of her crew who might have thought to linger. Then, looking up at Miranda again, she made a face, knowing it was a long shot, before asking, softly, "…Thane?"

Miranda shook her head at this guess, hardly deeming it worth an answer, before turning away from Shepard again to resume her search for Verner's craft. Shepard to let out a tired huff in response, taking her hands from her pockets again as she began to follow along behind her, trying her best to keep the pace despite being painfully out of breath. "We can find out who stayed behind when we get back from the Minuteman Station," Miranda went on, matter-of-factly, seeming more anxious than before as she glanced out over the line of ships again, as if she were slowly starting to lose patience with the futile guessing game. "None of the rest of the crew will be of any help to us where we're going right now anyway. We can't have any distractions, Shepard. We have only one shot at what we're doing, and we can't risk anything getting in the way of that and botching it, accidentally or otherwise." Coming up on a hopeful-looking craft, she stopped in front of it, looking it over, before glancing towards Shepard, watching as she came to stand beside her, letting out a long, tired, unsurprised sigh as she read the name painted in bright red letters across the side of the ship.

"Shepard," Shepard breathed, deadpan. "Figures. Fucking creepy."

"Aw, I think it's kind of sweet," Miranda teased, looking towards the spaceship again, a faint, knowing little smirk curving the corners of her plush lips upward as she played idly with the starting key. "A little hero worship never hurt anyone."

At this innocent statement, Shepard scoffed, resting her hand against the small of her back. "You don't know Conrad Verner," she sighed. Then, looking up at Miranda again, she frowned, still not entirely pleased with the explanation she had gotten thus far. "You're not exactly giving me a lot of details about this whole thing, Miranda," she told her, barely bothering to hide her concern. "You're expecting me to go into this blind when you won't even tell me what you've got planned. How do you know I'll want to do it?"

Miranda frowned at this test of faith, seeming almost exasperated with Shepard's incredulity as she turned to face her friend again. "Shepard, don't you trust me?" she asked, frustrated. "Besides, which would you rather, sitting around conversing about this or actually getting started? The longer we talk about it, the more time passes on your baby's remaining physical health." Turning back towards the shuttle again, she waved a hand in front of the side window, causing a digital keypad to pop up, before inputting Verner's unlock code. As soon as she did, the tiny ship gave a hiss, its side passenger door opening wide to allow them to inside, and Miranda turned back to Shepard again, clenching the starting key in her hand as she regarded her with a firm expression. "If we want a chance for this to work, we can't waste any more time than we already have," she told her. "It's going to take us a week already to get to the Nebula, even so. We can talk about it more on the way if you want, but the sooner we leave, the better." She paused, considering Shepard for a moment, before her expression suddenly softened, and she frowned, sighing, folding her arms across her ribcage, seeming almost sad now.

"It's not about details right now, Shepard," she told her, solemnly. "Do you or do you not want to at least _try_ to save your baby's life?"

Shepard faltered at this hard ultimatum, unable to help but feel a bit denigrated by Miranda's critical tone. Still, she said nothing, deciding it was not worth picking a fight over something so petty. "Of course I do," she answered, truthfully.

"Good," Miranda returned, shortly, before pointing towards the interior of the ship, indicating for Shepard to get in first. "Let's go, then. No time to waste."

* * *

The sound of the entryway door beeping to admit them echoed through the emptiness of the Minuteman Station, causing Shepard to paused at the top of the grated stairs, taking a look around. The interior of the Station was freezing cold and penetratingly dark, the air inside the facility so deathly still she could hear her thin heartbeat in her ears. Almost every light in the facility had been turned off, as far as she could see, presumably to preserve energy while the team was away, with only small, sporadic floodlights left on in certain far-off corners to ensure the place was not completely pitch black. It reminded Shepard strongly of the mines back on Omega, lit only by the trails of red lights installed to keep the miners at work, and she could not help but feel a chill run down her spine at the comparison, wondering what wicked things lurked in the dark of this place.

Miranda took a few assured steps forward towards the edge of the grated entryway platform, causing a few spare lights to turn on to acknowledge her presence, and when she did, Shepard could see that the periphery of the entryway was lined with LOKI security mechs, likely a precaution left by the last team to keep unsuspecting intruders out. Even so, none of the mechs made a move to acknowledge their presence, making her guess that it had been so long since they had last been active that their mechanics had all worn out from disuse, rendering them all but useless. Indicating for Shepard to follow behind her, Miranda began to descend the stairs, leading her past the ring of mechs and down into the dark, cold interior of the station. Shepard followed behind as quickly as she could, noting that the further into the station they got, the colder the air seemed to become. Blowing hot air into her hands, she rubbed them together hopefully, before crossing her arms over one another and tucking her hands under her armpits for warmth.

"It's really cold in here," Shepard breathed, shivering through her worn hoodie, getting Miranda's attention.

Miranda frowned a bit at this, glancing back over her shoulder towards her, concerned, before stopping near the doorway of the room they had been about to enter and waving a hand in front of a thin, slit-like sensor built into the wall beside the door, listening as it gave a low whine, convincing itself to wake up. "There hasn't been anyone here for over six months, presumably," she said, matter-of-factly, watching as the sensor came to life, projecting a small, circular loading symbol. "This station has been on minimum-power lockdown since the clone was destroyed. At least, that's what the files say. Nobody has been back to use it since, so I have to assume that's accurate." The sensor churned, letting out a high-pitched keen, before the loading symbol finally disappeared, replaced instead by what looked to be some sort of flickering blue options screen. Miranda perused the rows of selections, scanning each one thoughtfully, before picking a button near the top of the screen and pressing it, pulling up another, less daunting screen of options.

Pulling her hoodie more closely around her awkwardly-shaped form, Shepard watched Miranda work for a moment, trying hard not to shiver as she waited, not wanting to seem impatient, but feeling the cold permeating through her, making her need to cough or urinate. The difference was difficult to tell these days, and she did not want to risk doing one for fear it might accidentally set off the other, and so, taking a sharp breath in, she waited, wetting her lips as she turned her attention away from Miranda at the settings console. "It feels so strange to be back here," she said, looking up towards the ceiling of the facility, noting the flickering light in the far corner of the lab but deciding to say nothing about it. It had been so long since she had first woken up in the Lazarus facility that nothing seemed familiar anymore, apart from the stark, chilly atmosphere of the lab and the blank, white ceiling, which she could remember staring up at every time she began to come around during the process of the Project. She could vaguely remember Miranda's face swimming around in her line of vision every time she opened her eyes, her pristine, backlit form seeming almost angelic against the bright white lights of the facility. Miranda glanced back towards her, seeming confused for a moment, before shaking her head and turning her attention back to the laboratory control panel.

"You were never here," Miranda corrected, pulling up a set of digital setting sliders and starting to push one all the way to the top. "Not technically. You were in the Lazarus Cell Station. This is just a replica, where the other Commander Shepard was made."

"You mean the clone?" Shepard asked, looking over at her in interest. "The one you mentioned at the party?"

"Yes," Miranda answered, shortly. Pausing halfway through pushing a second slider upward, she stared at the line of bars, considering them, before abandoning the one she had been fooling with and instead sliding another one up to the top. Then, satisfied with her decisions, she closed out the setting subscreen, collapsing the control station with a wave of her hand and turning her attention back to Shepard again. "We set up two sister stations to make two identical projects," she explained, folding her arms thoughtfully across her chest as she spoke. "We didn't want either station interfering with the other one's research, or the two Shepards meeting accidentally somewhere along the way. The Cell had the main project, with the most highly-funded amount of research, and the Minuteman Station only got duplicates of whatever worked in the Cell." As she spoke, a soft whirring sound began to come from the overhead vents, and, as Shepard waited, she could feel the air in the lab beginning to turn a bit warmer, prompting her to let her hoodie fall back to its regular state.

Miranda seemed not even to notice the change in temperature in the lab as she turned back to face Shepard again, giving her a quick once-over, as if to make sure she were still doing all right, or as well as could be expected, under the circumstances. "I wasn't really planning on getting started until we'd had a chance to settle in," she admitted, shrugging one shoulder indicatively towards the interior of the station. "We should go ahead and change your bandages first, but after that, you can feel free to make yourself at home… or, as much at home as you can, considering. The run of the station is yours, if you want it. There's plenty of beds to choose from, or if you're hungry I'm sure we could whip something up right quick."

"There's food here?" Shepard asked, sounding surprised, trying to ignore the eager, gnawing feeling in her gut at the mention of non-freeze-dried food.

At this, Miranda paused, seeming taken aback, before nodding and turning away from Shepard, waving a hand to indicate for her to follow behind. "Of course there's food," she told her, frankly. "This whole place was designed to be a stable living environment. It was created to sustain a team of normal, functioning individuals isolated from the commercial world for as long as the Project was projected to take." Making her way down a flight of stairs, she continued through a darkened corridor towards a dimly-lit room at the end of the hall, hardly seeming to notice as the lights flickered on around her as she passed, reacting to her presence. "There should be stores enough for a dozen people to live comfortably for at least a year," she added, moving over to a tall, broad cabinet and pulling open the metal doors, showing off a comprehensive, multi-coloured stock of dried and canned goods. "Or at least half a year, considering. Add to that, with the power turned back on, we've got functional bathrooms, showers…" Turning around to face Shepard again, she raised her brows, attentively.

"The communication network should still work as well," she added, obligingly. "Unless the damage to the relays messed with the satellite system somehow. Unlikely, seeing as the Reapers were mostly just trying to prevent us from using our most useful technology, and didn't really consider vidcomm communication all that important…" She frowned, thoughtful for a moment, before taking a quick, sharp breath in and returning her attention to Shepard once more. "But in the event that the vidcomm network doesn't work, there's always the old-fashioned method as well. E-mail still works just fine, as far as I can tell."

"How long are we going to be staying here, exactly?" Shepard asked, trying hard not to make a disconcerted face as her fingers played distractedly over the edge of one of the cans.

"Only about four months or so," Miranda answered, candidly, turning her attention up towards the lines of shelves as well and looking them over, thoughtfully. "You have to understand, Shepard, what we're doing here is a process. It's not like resetting a broken bone. What we're talking about is delicate, volatile medicinal science."

"Why did you bring me here, Miranda?" Shepard asked, all patience gone as she turned her gaze to her friend again, frank, no longer interested in humouring her deliberate ambiguity. "What are you planning to do? You wouldn't tell me back on Earth, and you wouldn't tell me on the ride over. I've been waiting and waiting but I can't wait anymore. _Why am I here?_ "

Miranda paused at this question, seeming strangely unsurprised by Shepard's loss of patience, before letting out a soft sigh and dropping her gaze from the shelves again. "Follow me," she told her, solemnly, before turning away from Shepard again and waving an indicative hand, signifying for her to follow behind. Making her way past the darkened hallway, she led Shepard back towards the heart of the station, finally coming up on a short, broad set of stairs, which she led Shepard up towards what appeared to be a wide, open circular platform. The platform was ringed on all sides by empty gestation tanks in a number of shapes and sizes, and Shepard paused at the top of the stairs as she realized what she was looking at, unable to keep from frowning faintly as she looked around at the daunting display. Returning her attention to Miranda, she watched as she singled out one of the tanks, coming to stand in front of it and considering it with the pad of her thumb pressed contemplatively against her chin.

"The clone, if you'll remember, was… a knockoff, if you will," Miranda explained, seeming completely unfazed by how offputting this sector of the station had to be to someone unused to the sight of it. "A backup. As far as I know there shouldn't be anything left of the clone, herself, but with the Lazarus Cell destroyed by mechs…" Letting out a deep, frustrated sigh, Miranda shook her head, dropping her hand away from her face to instead fold her arms over her ribcage, each elbow resting in the opposite palm as she turned to look at Shepard again, her brow furrowing in disenchanted thought. "…This Station is all we have left of the Project," she told her. "Everything we have here is everything we have, and all we've got is what's left over from when they made the clone, so…" Biting down on her lower lip, she glanced over her shoulder towards the line of gestation tanks again, considering them thoughtfully. "Hopefully that will be enough," she finished, speaking barely loud enough for Shepard to hear her.

Shepard frowned, not quite understanding her explanation, letting her hand come to rest thoughtfully on her stomach as she dropped her gaze, puzzling over what she had just been told. "But…" she said, speaking slowly, trying to figure it out for herself. "But… if the Lazarus Cell is the facility with the advanced restorative technology, and this is just copying what they did, then this…" Lifting her gaze to Miranda again, she narrowed her eyes faintly, tilting her head inquisitively to one side. "This is just a cloning facility, Miranda," she observed. "How will that help? Are you intending to… clone… my baby…?"

"No," Miranda answered, quickly, shaking her head in return. "We don't have the resources to do that. The only reason this child has survived gestation as long as it has is because of the integrated Reapertech in your bodily makeup."

"She," Shepard corrected quietly, causing Miranda to look up at her in surprise.

"Beg pardon?" Miranda asked.

"She," Shepard repeated, a bit louder this time. "My baby… she's a she. Not an it."

Miranda hesitated, a bit thrown by this unexpected correction, before frowning slightly and turning back towards the line of gestation tanks, reaching out to touch the first one, as if trying to determine if it were a viable option for whatever she had planned. "The only reason _she_ has survived thus far is because of your in-part Reapertech rebuild," she corrected herself, moving onward with the conversation. "Trying to clone a similar lifeform outside of your unique individual bodily system would result in disaster and inhumane failure. That's why I said I wasn't certain it would work. However…" Looking up towards Shepard again, she paused, tapping her thumb impatiently against the edge of the tank, before shaking her head and moving on to the next tank, a long, horizontal cistern that looked more like an odd aquarium than an artificial womb.

"I'm not going to clone your baby," Miranda told her, matter-of-factly, passing her hand thoughtfully over a long metal tube running from one end of the top of the tank to the other. "But I _am_ going to _try_ to clone your baby's healthy stem cells. I'm not entirely certain that will work, either, but I figure there's a better chance of that small endeavour working than attempting to clone an entirely new baby." Letting out another soft sigh, she frowned, gripping hold of the metal bar, before shaking her head and moving on to the next tank in the row, glancing back towards Shepard to make sure she was following behind her. "What I'm hoping to do is to steadily introduce a regimen of healthy restorative stem cells into your baby's injured nervous and cerebral system over the remainder of her gestationary period," Miranda explained, looking up towards a particularly tall incubation tank, her fingers playing distractedly against her thigh as she considered it. "With any luck, that should allow them to gradually repair the damage done by the Reaper's blast. I needed this particular experimental cloning technology because I'm positive that only your own baby's unique stem cells would be able to work… if this is destined to work at all."

Hesitating then, Miranda frowned, her gaze falling from the tank as she paused in her perpetual motion for the first time since entering the lab. Then, turning around to face Shepard again, she sucked in on her lower lip, taking a deep breath in, preparing for the worst. "This may very well fail, Shepard," she informed her, solemnly. "I don't want you to get your hopes up. To be perfectly frank, I'd be an optimist to assume there's even a…" She paused again, shaking her head, averting her eyes as she did some quick mental calculations. "Twelve percent chance this will actually succeed," she determined, returning her gaze to Shepard again. "And even if we do succeed in getting her brain to work again, there's a much greater chance after that that your baby will be… severely developmentally handicapped, from the time spent with no brain activity."

"How developmentally handicapped are we talking?" Shepard asked, her frown deepening, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie.

Miranda shook her head, wetting her lips slowly as she tried to determine the best way to explain her prediction. "Likely… talking would be out of the question," she finally answered, taking a deep breath in. "Walking… simple problem solving. It would be like having a one-month-old infant, only for… four or five years, most likely. I can't be certain a child in this condition, along with all her other anticipated genetic ailments, would be able to live much further past that." Folding her hands in front of her, she began to wring them, anxiously, hardly seeming to notice as she stared at Shepard, her expression falling even further, solemn and sympathetic. "If you want, if you would prefer not to go through with this, not… to put your child through that," she added, speaking slower, working carefully over her words. "I can go ahead and terminate your pregnancy… here. I figured you would prefer to have it done in private by someone you trust, rather than… some stranger in that hospital camp back on Earth."

Shepard faltered at this sentiment, taken aback, wondering for a moment if she had heard Miranda correctly. Then, taking a deep breath in, she wet her lips, shifting uncomfortably between her feet, before lifting her head, proudly, preparing to answer. "I appreciate that, Miranda," she told her, honestly. "But…" Pausing again, she bit her lip, her brow furrowing even further downward as she considered her options, weighing the possible, painful outcomes. "If this were… your child," she finally said, speaking slowly as she turned her attention up towards Miranda again. "If you had to choose between… termination, and… possible… inhumane failure…" She stopped again, trailing off once more, gritting her teeth as she steeled herself, pushing herself to keep speaking, to keep moving forward with her agonizing question. "If she were… your child," she said again, taking a deep, uncertain, shaking breath in. "What… would you do?"

Miranda seemed surprised at the question, her sculpted brows raising slowly upward as she considered how best to honestly answer. "If she were my child," she finally said, speaking just as slowly, considering her words. "I would take into consideration… the fact that, as much as I would love to be able to hold my child, to see my child… to love my child… it… you have to think about what would be best for her. Even if you do get to hold her… how long will it be? Minutes? Hours?" She frowned, seeming to be trying to convince herself not to visibly wince as she thought about what she wanted to say next. "Will it be harder to lose her now, before you've had a chance to know her, or after you've grown to love her, after three… four… even five years?" she asked, solemnly. "I think, if she were my child, I would…" She faltered, going quiet a moment, biting down gently on her plush lower lip as she prepared to give her final verdict. "…Try," she finally said, with quiet determination. "I would try everything I could… for her. Even with the probability of failure, even with such insurmountable odds… I figure, as far as this is concerned… it's better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all."

A thin, candid, almost breathless silence fell between them at this, and for a moment Shepard could only stare at Miranda, waiting for some reaction, some logical, scientific follow-up for why this decision was best for her, but Miranda only stood perfectly still, her arms crossed thoughtfully over her chest as she stared back at Shepard, just as resolutely, letting her answer sink in. Then, after a moment, Miranda took a sharp breath in, shaking her head and raising both hands in a gesture of interjection, breaking the contemplative silence. "But, that's not a discussion for now," she said, quickly. "You need to get some rest first, and I need to do some calculations. We likely won't get started for certain until a day or so has passed, to make sure we know what we're doing, but…" Turning to look back towards Shepard again, she paused, considering her, thoughtfully. "You're sure you want to do this, Shepard?" she asked, solemn and wary. "You don't have to go through with this just because I said I would. You're your own person, you know, and she… she's your baby, not mine."

"I know," Shepard answered, truthfully. "But I trust your judgement, Miranda. And… I want to hold her, too."

Miranda hesitated, absorbing this answer for a moment, before finally taking a deep breath in and turning away from Shepard, starting to head down the stairs towards the main lab. "Right," she said, shortly, waving a hand. "Well, you go get some sleep. Heaven knows you need it. You can find a map of the station at any doorway, but it should be fairly easy to navigate to the main sleeping quarters and back." Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she headed into the main lab, making her way to one of the computers and sitting herself down in front of it, turning the holographic monitor on and waiting as it slowly powered itself up. "I'll be here in the lab if you need anything," she told her, frankly. "The kitchen should be working by now if you're hungry, and there are restrooms are near the sleeping quarters in case you have to pee. And – Shepard?" Here, she paused, glancing back towards Shepard again, before her expression began to slowly soften, a small, almost grateful little smile touching her lips.

"…Thank you," she told her, quietly.


	38. WEEK TWENTY-ONE

Despite having been to the Minuteman Station only one time before in her life, and then for only the span of a day or so before rejoining the crew of the Normandy, Shepard found that the station was relatively easy to learn to navigate, just as Miranda had said it would be. The maps by each elevator had been helpful at first in finding her way around, but it had not taken her long to memorize the layout, and she had quickly taken to exploring her new temporary dwelling in her newfound free time, looking for any sign of the previous crew. It had not taken much time at all during her wandering to find the familiar communications sector of the station, and she could not help but feel an odd sense of melancholy as she came to stand on the circular platform she had first used to communicate with the Illusive Man over a year and a half ago. Things had been complicated then, much more complicated than she had liked, but compared to the way things were now, she found herself almost longing for the relative straightforwardness of her Cerberus rebirth and subsequent foisted affiliation.

Whoever had last occupied the Minuteman Station seemed to have cleared out in record time – apart from some haphazardly-selected clothes from the drawers, everything seemed to have just been left when the previous crew had evacuated, likely having not had the time to thoroughly pack while attempting to escape from impending Reaper forces. A digital photograph of a smiling family flickered, face-down, beside one of the beds, and Shepard picked it up, inspecting it distractedly, before setting it back down again and turning to continue exploring the station. Despite having her pick of the crew's abandoned attire, Shepard still wore the hoodie Miranda had bought her back on Earth, although she could tell it had clearly been intended for someone more petite than herself. It had also become increasingly more difficult to zip since her arrival, making her wish she had thought to ask Miranda to buy her a men's sweater instead, but, despite this, and despite it being rather more well-worn than her old hoodie, wearing it still reminded her of the jacket she used to wear all the time aboard the Normandy, which in turn made her think comfortingly of home, or the closest thing she had ever had to it.

With nothing else pressing left to explore and no news from Miranda about their operation, Shepard had eventually retired to the rec room, where she found an eager leisure companion in the station's resident VI. While the software was rudimentary in comparison to EDI, the computer had been programmed to keep the previous crew informed and stimulated, and Shepard found its disposition amenable, if bland and hard to relate to. Now, Shepard frowned in concentration as she scanned the digital chess board laid out in front of her, biting her lip as she tried to decide her next strategic move. She had already lost six games of chess to the station's VI that day, but, as with everything else, she was nothing if not stubborn, and this game in particular looked as if it might actually be going her way for a change. The computer whirred patiently as it waited for her to act, seeming almost pleasantly distracted as she coaxed her little digital marker a few inches forward across the board. Recognizing she had finished her turn, the computer beeped thoughtfully, the squares on the game board lighting up in an entertaining display as it ran some quick calculations, before one of its pieces suddenly moved forward a few spaces, coming to a halt within easy striking distance of her king.

"Checkmate," the computer informed her, its digitized voice short and stiff as the trail to its inevitable victory lit up across the board.

"Damn," Shepard swore, letting out a short, sharp breath as she leaned back in her chair, defeated. "You win again. You're too good at this."

"Shepard?" Miranda called, getting her attention, causing her to look up from her game, glad for the distraction. Miranda stood at the edge of the platform, one hand still resting on the railing as she watched Shepard curiously, her head tilted to one side as she observed the layout of the board. "Computer got you again?" she asked, good-naturedly.

Shepard smirked, embarrassed, tossing her overgrown bangs out of her eyes as she turned her attention back to the board, scanning absentmindedly over the still-flashing setup. "Yeah, well, I think he cheated," she answered, giving a soft breath of a laugh. "Nobody wins that many games in a row without some sort of cheat mechanic."

"I did not cheat," the computer returned, frankly, its sincerity almost pitiable. "I am not programmed to cheat."

"I'm just kidding, computer," Shepard assured it, letting out another soft, reassuring laugh. "Don't worry. I know I'm terrible at this game." Then, turning her attention back to Miranda again, she raised her brows, intrigued. "What can I help you with, Miranda?" she asked.

At this cue, Miranda instantly straightened, taking in a sharp breath as she turned her attention away from the digital chess board and back towards Shepard again. "I've actually come to give you something," she answered, matter-of-factly, her thumb tapping absentmindedly against the line of the railing as she spoke. "Just some news, though. Nothing too exciting."

"News is always good," Shepard returned, leaning back in her chair and tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, letting her legs stretch out more comfortably in front of her. "I like news."

"Well, I have good news, and I have bad news," Miranda told her, honestly, letting out a soft sigh as she spoke, knowing how ominous that had to sound, considering the situation. "The good news is I've done some calculations, taking into consideration rate of regeneration versus healthy reformative cells, and I've more or less figured out what needs to be done, if everything goes according to plan. I know, roughly, how much of the synthetic hybridized stem cells I need to make, and at what rate to administer them in order to get the best projected results to coerce your baby's brain back into operation."

"Well, that sounds good," Shepard agreed, her brow furrowing faintly at the news. "If a bit complex and full of uncertain-sounding variables."

"It's not a perfect science," Miranda agreed, shrugging a bit as she began to play distractedly with the tip of her gloved index finger. "But then again this has never been done before. Pretending I know exactly what I'm doing would be dishonest, and unfair to you."

"What's the bad news?" Shepard asked, turning a bit in her seat to face Miranda head-on.

Miranda hesitated, seeming now slightly more anxious, her fidgeting pausing momentarily as she tried to think of the most straightforward and temperate way to explain the downside to her ostensibly miraculous science. "The bad news is… I can't… do any of this, while the baby is… still in your body," she finally answered, letting out a heavy exhale as she did so, as if she had been holding her breath up to then without even realizing it. "In order to administer the synthetic stem cells, I have to… remove your uterus, with the baby still inside. It's the only way I'll be able to do this. I hope you understand."

Shepard faltered, blinking a few times, taken aback, too stunned by this news to answer right away. Then, making a face, she shook her head, shifting uncomfortably a bit in her seat as she tried to comprehend what she was being told. "Wait a minute," she said, trying hard not to sound incredulous. If anyone knew what they were doing when it came to things like this, it was certainly Miranda, but she still could not help but feel there was something wrong with this turn of events. "In order to… jumpstart my baby's brain… you're going to… remove my uterus?"

"Yes," Miranda answered, frankly, seeming entirely convinced by her explanation. "I can go ahead and perform a radical hysterectomy while I'm in there, if that would be preferable. Remove your uterus, cervix, some tissue on both sides of the cervix, and the uppermost part of your vagina. Clear the whole space out so you don't have any lingering issues with leftover parts."

"Leftover parts?" Shepard repeated, unable to help but frown openly now. "Miranda, this whole operation sounds… excessive. Is there really no way you can just leave the baby where she is and do the procedure that way?"

Miranda sighed at the question, shaking her head, before propping a frustrated hand on her hip. "Shepard, I already told you," she reminded her, sternly. "I need a visualization of the foetus that leaving it inside your body does not allow for. Even with ultrasound technology, I'm not a magician. I can't just go in effectively blind." She paused, realizing the harshness of her tone, before bringing her other hand to her hips to join the first, letting out another sigh, this one softer than the last. "Besides, I don't know what this would do to your body if I tried to use it while the baby is still inside you," she explained, reasonably. "It could very well cause even further mutations when coming in contact with your amenic makeup, or the Reapertech in your body. If your body thinks it's supposed to be healing itself using these synthetic hybridized stem cells, you could very well end up with unanticipated and unpleasant side effects – or even get sick and die."

"Oh." Shepard blinked at this, suddenly much less sceptical. "That would be bad."

"This isn't children's science, Shepard," Miranda told her, bluntly, taking her hands from her hips to cross them over her ribcage, resting each elbow in the opposite palm. "It's real, volatile tech, but we don't have the funding to experiment with it. We have just one chance to do this with the equipment we've got. Do you really want to take a chance of something screwing up because you didn't want to let me remove one of your non-essential organs?"

"I mean," Shepard returned, thinking about it, drumming her fingers distractedly against the edge of the virtual chess desk. "I understand where you're coming from, Miranda. I guess I just don't understand why you have to take the whole thing out." Pausing in her drumming, she took a short, sharp breath in, frowning a bit, before looking up at Miranda again, inquisitive. "Wouldn't it do just as well to simply take out the amniotic sac with the baby still inside?" she asked, pointedly. "That way I don't have to lose any of my organs, essential or not."

"Shepard…" Miranda frowned, letting out a sharp huff, looking discouraged now, almost vexed. "Shepard, I hate to say it, but you're not exactly young anymore," she told her, frankly. "Even if this pregnancy had gone perfectly, there's no assurance that you would ever have been able to get pregnant again. Normal human fertility lasts until about the age of forty, and you're…" She paused, biting her lip, trying to think of the most tactful way to say what she was thinking, before shrugging one offhanded shoulder, ruefully. "Almost… there," she finished, awkwardly.

"I'm thirty-six," Shepard reminded her, bluntly.

"And how many more children were you planning to have in those four years?" Miranda challenged, getting quickly annoyed with the back-and-forth. "I figure if you got pregnant immediately after having each one you could squeeze in about five in that time period. Or squeeze out, as it were. Only after you had this one, of course…" Turning her gaze away from Shepard then, she scoffed, leaning one hand cynically against the platform railing as she propped the other against her hip, unimpressed. "Though that shouldn't be much of an issue, I think," she added, speaking in barely above a cold mumble. "Seeing as if you keep your uterus, this child will likely die. That will give you plenty of time to get started on the next five, I'm sure."

"Miranda," Shepard answered, frowning, taken aback by the unexpectedly callous remark.

Miranda bristled a moment, turning her biting blue gaze up towards Shepard, clearly still irritated from the earlier disagreement. Then, realizing she was in the wrong, she quickly deflated, her stiff shoulders falling as she let out a soft, regretful sigh. "I'm sorry," she apologized, quietly. "That was… uncalled for. Out of line. All I'm trying to say, Shepard, is that…" She faltered, frowning, her plush lips drawing into a hard, contemplative line as she crossed her arms thoughtfully over her chest again. "Without the placental filter attached to the lining of your uterus, the baby won't be able to get the oxygenated blood filtration and nutritional supplementation she needs," she explained, matter-of-factly. "We have _general_ filtration alternatives, dextro- and levo-specific, but nothing that fits her unique needs. We could try to use one of those in lieu of yours, but do you really want to take that risk?"

"No," Shepard answered, honestly, shaking her head for good measure. "But is that really the only other option?"

"Shepard," Miranda sighed, running a frustrated hand back through her thick hair before returning it to rest on her hip. "In order to remove her without removing your readily-created placental filter, I would have to recreate your placental filter, which could take a week or more with the limited cloning tech we have. I already told you the risks of waiting any longer to start your baby on the regenerative cell treatment, and if we were to try to move her before the replacement placenta is readily available, or even attempt to forgo placental filtration altogether…" Letting out another irritated breath, she crossed her arms again, frowning deeply. "Without the utilization of the placental organ, even with all the other tech we have here, the baby would most likely die quickly after supplementation," she said.

Shepard faltered at this grim prognosis, still uncertain, rocking her heel anxiously back and forth against the metal flooring of the rec room as she thought. "And there are really no other alternatives?" she finally asked, discouraged. "This is a big decision, Miranda. Never being able to have children again…" Trailing off, she stopped, looking up again suddenly, realizing how insensitive her last statement had sounded. "Not… that there's anything wrong with not being able to have children," she added, quickly amending herself. "I just… it's a lot to process. With—the surgery and all."

"I know what you meant," Miranda answered calmly, seeming entirely unperturbed by the slip. "Unfortunately the only other alternative I can think of right now would be to try to synthesize an anti-rejection medication to ensure that your body would recognize the synthesized stem cells as foreign but would not automatically reject them, and that could take… weeks, to perfect. In that time, your baby could very well have spent too long without brain activity for me to be able to save her." Frowning again, she paused, pensive, rolling her lips as her gaze drifted to one side, considering a spot on the far wall of the rec room. "I don't even know that I have the proper materials to do something like that, regardless," she added, thoughtfully. "All of that type of equipment was lost when the Lazarus Cell was destroyed. Trying to cobble up something similar from scratch could take… months." Turning her attention towards Shepard again, she took a sharp breath in, leaning back against the railing as she raised her sculpted brows, intent. "As it is, I'm going to need to take blood from you, and a good deal of it," she told her, openly. "We'll likely have to draw blood as often as possible, until we can slowly start to wean the placental-umbilical system off of your blood and onto an artificial alternative."

"I don't want to use an artificial alternative," Shepard answered, quickly, shaking her head, causing Miranda's brow to furrow in surprise. "Take as much blood as you need. I don't want to take any risks. I don't want her going into anaphylactic shock when she's born because she's suddenly supposed to start producing blood and all she's been getting is some synthetic cocktail instead."

"Shepard, you can't just produce endless amounts of blood," Miranda told her, frowning, concerned. "It's okay to use an alternative. People do it all the time when they're cloning. You just take a sample of compatible blood and you reproduce it artificially. It's a simple process—"

"I don't want to do that," Shepard repeated, more firmly this time. "I don't want to take that risk. You don't know how she'll react to something that isn't my blood, Miranda. You could very well harm or kill her." Letting out a low, stalwart huff, she tucked her arms over her chest, nestling further down into the folds of her hoodie. "Just take as much of my blood as you possibly can," she told her, frankly. "I can always produce more."

"Shepard…" Miranda sighed, dropping her gaze, rubbing her thumb and forefinger idly together in exasperated thought. "Fine," she conceded, looking up again. "I'll start you on a regimen of epoetin alfa, see if we can get your body to produce enough red blood cells to sustain a consistent supplemental schedule. Under normal circumstances you would generally only produce enough red blood cells to give about a pint of blood for use every two months or so, but maybe…" Pausing, she made a face, considering, before letting out another short, soft huff of breath, seeming less than convinced her idea was even plausible. "I'll do what I can," she promised, shortly. "But you have to agree that if you can't safely produce enough blood by yourself, you'll let me synthesize some. I'll… mix it with your blood, to ensure she's still getting at least a partially organic supplement at all times. Can you agree to that?"

Shepard frowned, stubborn, chewing her lip as she considered this prospective compromise. Then, giving a low, conceding exhale, she nodded, crossing one ankle over the other. "Good," Miranda agreed, brightly, crossing to the chess table and seating herself across from Shepard. "That would work best for everyone, I think. Besides, think of it this way – you'll finally be able to see your feet again. Plus you won't have anything sitting on your bladder anymore."

Shepard paused a moment, considering this, before finally offering Miranda a thin, wan smile. "That's… true, I guess," she conceded, musingly. "Though I've… kind of gotten used to not seeing my feet. I don't… really mind it that much anymore." Faltering then, she hesitated, the smile beginning to slowly fade from her face, only to be replaced by a faint, pensive frown as her hand travelled absentmindedly over the curve of her stomach under her hoodie. "It's just… strange, you know," she added then, her voice quiet, almost distant. "The idea that this is all I get. Five whole months… and half of that time I resented her."

"You had no idea, Shepard," Miranda reasoned, offering a short, reassuring shrug of one shoulder. "People change. Circumstances change. You didn't think you were ready to have a baby then. You can't blame yourself for being scared. It's a natural reaction." Going quiet, she watched Shepard across the chess table for a moment, her gaze drifting slowly from her face to the distracted hand on her stomach, and then back to her face again. Then, letting out a soft, sad little sigh, she reached out a hand across the table towards Shepard, taking her free hand in her own and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You're very brave, Shepard," she told her, sincerely. "Everything that you're going through, all of this… I don't think I'd be able to do it. You are the strongest person I know." Then, pausing again, a small, almost playful smirk began to curl gently at the corners of her mouth.

"The Reapers never stood a chance," she added, teasingly, before letting out a short, soft laugh.

* * *

Shepard fiddled anxiously with the drawstring of her hoodie as she waited for the vidcomm unit to process her call to Palaven, watching as the circular loading symbol in the middle of the screen looped round and round, looking for the nearest satellite station to bounce the message across the galaxy. While earlier that day she had been wearing one of the lab coats left behind by the previous crew in an effort to not feel so overwhelmingly out of form, she had decided to change back into her worn Earth-bought hoodie for this call, despite its snug fit, so as not to startle Garrus by showing up after a long time gone in something printed with a Cerberus logo. He had suffered through that scare with her one time before, and she figured that one time of that was more than plenty, especially considering how rocky their reunion was bound to be already. It had been almost a week since her arrival at the Minuteman Station, and in all that time she had yet to work up the nerve to attempt to get in contact with Garrus again. Getting his contact information had been easy – a simple e-mail to Liara had been enough to garner everything she needed to know – but the actual act of calling had been harder than anticipated. Every time she went to call, she would instantly think of something else she needed to do, generally small, menial, throwaway tasks, until finally, after almost a week, she found herself out of excuses to avoid him.

The screen flashed blue as the call processed, the destination pulsing on the screen in white letters, and she could not help but feel that it seemed to be taking more time than usual for someone to pick up. Then, before she could lose her nerve and hang up, the tone stopped, interrupted by a high, sharp beep, before the screen flipped into active life, showing an image of Garrus sitting at a broad, metal desk, looking preened and handsome as ever and wearing what looked to be a new suit of military armour. Shepard could not help but feel severely underdressed in comparison, but she merely smiled at the sight of him, noting the way his mandibles began to twitch more rapidly the moment he caught sight of her on the other end. "Hey there, stranger," Shepard teased, her voice hoarse. "Funny seeing you around these parts."

"You're on my property now, cowboy," Garrus answered, giving a soft, fond chuckle in return. "Ain't nothing funny about it."

Shepard laughed quietly at the familiar repartee, before folding her arms across her chest, hiding her stomach from view. "So," she said, giving a quick jerk of her chin towards him. "How's Palaven?"

Garrus sighed at this question, shifting guiltily in his seat, before moving to lean in closer to the screen and looking up at her again with earnest, bright blue eyes. "I didn't have a choice, Shepard," he told her, frankly. "I didn't want to go, but… they said I had a responsibility as Primarch Victus' Reaper Advisor. I tried to tell them my job was over, now that the Reapers were gone, but…" Letting out another hefty sigh, he dropped his gaze to his lap, shaking his head, before turning his attention back up towards her again. "Apparently my office stretches to post-Reaper cleanup as well," he added, sounding nonplussed by this fact. "They expected me to know what to do after the Reapers were gone. Where to start in the rebuild effort. I've never been part of a rebuild effort in my life. I had no idea where to begin." Pausing again, he considered her for a moment, before letting out a short, deep chuckle, his mouth quirking into a fond half-grin. "I'm learning," he told her, quieter. "It's a process. I do kind of wish you were here, though. You would know what to do with these things. I just kind of… consult the reports and hope for the best."

"I'm sure you're doing just fine," Shepard assured him, letting out a soft, fond chuckle.

"Hm," Garrus returned, noncommittal, shifting down more comfortably in his seat. "As well as can be expected. Can't help but feel daunted by the sheer amount of work, though. Right when you think you've made a dent, something else comes up and you're two steps back again." Taking a deep breath in, he paused, crossing one arm thoughtfully over his abdomen as he rocked his chair faintly back and forth, staring at her contemplatively through the vidscreen. "You look terrible, Shepard," he told her, honestly.

Shepard hesitated, taken aback for a moment, before giving a soft, hoarse chuckle in return, nestling even deeper into the folds of her jacket. "You always were a romantic, Garrus," she told him, offering him a wan half-smile.

At this reaction, Garrus let out a short, sharp exhale, lifting his hands and shaking his head, as if realizing for the first time how he must have sounded. "It's not—I didn't…" he huffed, flustered, doing his best to backpedal. "I didn't mean it like that. You know what I meant."

"I know," Shepard assured him, her thin smile widening, understanding. "It's just so much fun to tease you."

Letting out another deep, exasperated sigh, Garrus dropped his hands back to his desk again, trying to offer her a forced smile in return but seeming not quite as amused by her teasing as she was. "Tell me the truth," he finally pressed, anxiously. "Have you been sleeping okay? Have you been eating right, keeping healthy? You know you don't always eat like you should."

"Garrus, I'm fine," Shepard told him, gently, raising a hand to quell his fretting. "Miranda's been making sure I'm well-nourished."

"Miranda's there with you?" Garrus asked, seeming surprised, leaning forward a bit in his chair towards the vidscreen, as if expecting to catch a glimpse of the former operative somewhere in the background. "I would've thought she'd go back to her sister after the war. What with her new baby and all." Leaning back in his chair again, he cleared his throat, tilting his head a bit, his plated brows furrowing faintly in civil interest. "How is Miranda, by the way?" he asked. "Are you two doing okay over there? Getting along all right?"

"We're getting along fine," Shepard assured him, shrugging faintly, almost offhanded. "Miranda's a good friend. She takes good care of me." She smiled at him, reassuringly, her smile thin and weary, before it began to slowly fade again, a long, telling quiet settling in over the conversation as the genial small talk ground to a halt, leaving them trapped in mired, uncomfortable silence. Taking a deep breath in, Shepard frowned, digging her heels into the polished flooring and tucking her arms a bit firmer over her chest as she stared at him, trying to pull together some semblance of her nerves. "Garrus," she finally said, speaking quietly. "I… need your help. I have a really… really difficult decision to make, and I can't…" She trailed off, faltering, her brow furrowing a bit more, holding her breath in for a moment before letting it out in a short, exasperated sigh. "I can't do it without you," she told him, honestly. "I thought I could, I've made it this far making decisions on my own, but this… this is too big for me to decide alone. I… really need your help."

"Of course, Shepard," Garrus assured her, comfortingly, shifting a bit in his seat as he waited attentively for her to go on. "Anything."

Shepard hesitated, clenching her jaw, swallowing hard as she unfolded her arms, her hands curling tightly around one another in her lap, her knuckles threatening to crack with the strain as she prepared to say what it had taken her almost five months to finally admit. "First, I… I need to tell you something," she began, trying hard to keep her voice from trembling. "Something… important. I've been… meaning… I've been _trying_ … to tell you this for a long time, now, but… every time I tried to tell you, something always came up, or… I lost my nerve, or…" Trailing off again, she bit her lip, her worried frown deepening as she took a deep breath, preparing herself for the inevitable. "Garrus… I have to tell you something," she said, her voice weak, threatening to break. "Something really… really important. Something I should have told you a while ago. I… I'm…" She stopped again, feeling a lump rising in her throat, but she pushed it back down again, steeling herself as she took in a long, shaking, readying breath.

"I'm… pregnant," she told him, barely above a whisper. Her gaze flicked up to his before dropping again, unable to look him in the eye, but then, after a moment, she turned her eyes up towards him again, waiting anxiously for his reaction, preparing herself for the worst and knowing full well she deserved it. Garrus hesitated a moment, letting the painful silence linger, his expression set, unmoving, unchanging, as if he had to take time to process this thought before he could figure out how to react. Then, taking a deep breath in, he leaned a bit further back in his chair, regarding Shepard with a frank, even expression as his mandibles hovered distractedly at the edges of his chin.

"I know," he answered, evenly, sounding completely unfazed.

Shepard faltered, taken aback, feeling her stomach drop sharply out at this answer. She knew, somehow, in the back of her mind, that it was inevitable he would know – there was no possible way he could not, considering her behaviour the past few months. The fact that he had found her half-dead on the Citadel in her ruined armour was the final, inescapable nail in the coffin, but still she could not help the feeling of cold, permeating dread at the thought that he had known about her pregnancy for some time, but had said nothing about it until just now. "You know?" she asked, a bit louder this time, a faintly accusatory note creeping into her tone despite herself. She knew how entirely hypocritical it was of her to be upset with him for doing to her the exact same thing she had been doing to him for months, but she still could not help but feel a bit self-righteously indignant at the apparent deception. "How long have you known?"

Garrus paused, seeming surprised by this question, his mandibles giving an uncertain twitch against his chin before starting to vibrate, anxiously. "How long have _you_ known?" he asked, sounding almost startled. Then, raising his hands to stop her, he shook his head, turning his attention downwards, waving his hands in front of him dismissively before returning his attention to the vid screen. "Nevermind," he told her, clearing his throat as he spoke. "That's not important now. I… truth be told, I had the first inkling about a month… maybe two months ago, when you started talking about having babies. I thought maybe it was just baby fever, or… you were ovulating, maybe, or…" He frowned, awkward, trailing off, before letting out a short, exasperated little huff, knowing exactly how ridiculous he sounded trying to discuss things he knew barely anything about. "I don't know," he admitted, shortly. "It didn't really occur to me much at the time. I figured if you were, you'd tell me, and if you weren't… well, it didn't really matter if you weren't. So, when time went on, and you didn't say anything… I kind of assumed it was all in my head. But…"

Pausing again, he made a face, his mandibles giving fast, agitated tics against his chin as he tried to figure out the best way to explain himself to her. "I wasn't about to go accusing you of anything," he added, quickly, covering his bases. "I trusted you not to keep a secret like that from me. I figured… something that important, you'd be bound to tell me sooner or later. Then when I found you in the Citadel, with your armour all busted and your undersuit…" He faltered again, making an odd, indicative, downward gesture towards his abdomen, before letting out another short, weary sigh and letting his hands return to either side of his vidscreen. "Clearly you were pregnant, but I figured… you were maybe just a couple months along, and maybe you didn't even know yourself just yet," he told her, sounding even more exasperated now. "I don't know how human pregnancy works, if it's… if that's how it's supposed to look. It wasn't until I asked after you at the hospital camp that they told me human pregnancies last nine months, and you were already _five months along_ …"

Trailing off again, he frowned, his plated brows drawing faintly together as his mandibles gave quick, irritated tics against his tapered chin. "The nurse told me… they were doing all they could to save 'the Commander's baby'," he told her, solemnly. "He asked… if I knew where the father was. As if I was supposed to know." Stopping then, he frowned, his mandibles pausing momentarily in their distracted tapping as he watched her, as if waiting for some reaction to this news. "How long were you going to wait to tell me, Shepard?" he finally asked, sounding suddenly much more irritated. "Until you were eight, nine months pregnant and couldn't hide it anymore? Until after you actually had the baby? Surprise!" Clenching his hands into fists on either side of the vidscreen, Garrus let out a hard, angry huff of breath, his mandibles beginning to twitch more violently now the angrier he became. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" he insisted, almost spitting the words. "I can't believe you would do this. —No, actually, I _can_ believe you would do this. That's the worst part of it all. I'm just… so…"

Sitting back in his chair again, he reached his hands up to his head, resting them there for a long moment as he stared at her, his expression frozen, hard to read, his mandibles twitching fixedly against the sides of his tapered chin. "I don't know what to think, Shepard," he finally admitted, dropping his hands back to his desk, vexed and defeated. "I wish you would have told me earlier, so I didn't have to find out the way I did. You put yourself in danger so many times… why didn't you just tell me? Because it was somebody else's kid, and you thought it would hurt me to tell me about it?" Letting out an overwhelmed sigh, he shook his head again, his shoulders seeming to droop as the fight began to leave him. "I don't care whose baby it is, Shepard," he told her, honestly. "It doesn't matter. It's a part of you, and I would have loved it just as much either way. I just wish you'd trusted me enough to tell me. That's what really stings about all of this."

"Well, it doesn't matter anymore," Shepard returned, stubbornly, feeling the familiar, unpleasant prickling sensation of tears begin to sting the corners of her eyes. She would not cry, she could not, not while Garrus was watching her. She was a proud woman, too proud to let him know how much his words had honestly hurt her. "The baby didn't survive the tractor beam. The doctors at the hospital weren't able to save it."

At this, Garrus' expression instantly cleared, and he stared at her, his mouth hanging slightly open in shock, lost for words for a long, taut moment. "It's… dead?" he finally asked, hardly daring to speak above a shaken whisper, as if afraid actually uttering the statement might make it come horribly true.

"Braindead," Shepard clarified, gritting her teeth to keep her own voice from shaking. "The baby is… it's braindead. No… brain activity, whatsoever."

"So it's effectively dead," Garrus returned, speaking slightly louder now, an indignant sort of anger creeping back into his voice. "This baby, the one you were keeping a secret from me, it's now, it's… it's dead. Is that what you're telling me?"

"Not… necessarily," Shepard answered, frowning as she bit down anxiously on her lower lip. She was not used to hearing such a harsh tone from Garrus, and the sheer, unfamiliar ire of it was throwing her completely off balance. "It's not… necessarily dead. Just… braindead, is all. It's not the same thing. Bodily, it seems to be just fine, but—"

"Shepard, you're not going to keep a braindead baby alive just to prove a point," Garrus cut her off, accusatorily, letting out a hefty, agitated sigh. "That's just too beyond cruel, even… if… If it's dead, you just… you really…" Pausing again, he frowned, seeming to recognize how hard his tone had become without even realizing it, before his expression quickly softened, and he let out a low, tired exhale. "You can always try again," he told her, his voice gentler now. "Don't prolong its suffering unnecessarily. Or yours, for that matter. Doing that would make you no better than Cerberus."

"It's not just to prove a point," Shepard retorted, puffing up at the accusation. The unsavoury comparison between herself and the Illusive Man was enough to quickly stifle her tears, and she straightened her posture, gritting her teeth as she regarded Garrus with a look of sheer indignation. "Miranda says she might be able to fix it," she added, defensively. "She… she has a plan. She brought me back to life once before. I believe she might be able to help with this."

"Shepard," Garrus answered, wearily, dropping his gaze from her to his desk, before returning his attention to her again, looking much more tired than he had before. "Miranda is good, but she's not a miracle worker. The Lazarus Project took two years to complete, and you're a lot sturdier than a baby."

"So you don't want me to even _try_ to save it?" Shepard asked, challenging him.

Garrus sighed again, looking more worn down than angry now. "I didn't say that," he corrected her, frankly. "I just don't think the baby _can_ be saved, is all." Pausing then, he stared at her for a moment, his expression stiff, difficult to read. "I'm also more concerned with the fact that you didn't think it was important to tell me you were pregnant until after the baby was _already dead_ ," he added, much more solemnly.

"Braindead, Garrus," Shepard corrected, feeling her own anger dropping away suddenly as a lump rose into her throat, choking her, causing her to falter on her words. "She's only, it's just… she's only braindead."

At this sudden change of pronouns, Garrus blinked, seeming surprised, almost unnerved, before his expression slowly began to change, growing more disconcerted the longer the statement lingered. "It… was a girl?" he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Shepard hesitated at this question, hardly having realized her own slip, before taking in a sharp breath and letting it out in a short, shaking exhale. "It… she, was, yes," she answered, fairly. "A little girl. I… had a name picked out and everything. I was going to call her Solara—"

"Don't," Garrus told her, cutting her off sharply, his voice oddly harsh as he raised a hand to stop her. "Please, Shepard, just… just… don't." Dropping his hand to his desk again, he took a deep breath in, pausing for a moment, quiet, his expression solemn and pained. "I should go," he finally told her, quietly. Then, seeming to realize something, he hesitated again, a bit surprised, before a faint, almost subconscious smirk began to weakly pull the edge of his mouth upward. "Listen to me," he told her, giving a short, soft huff of a bitter laugh. "I'm starting to sound like you."

"Garrus…" Shepard sighed, overwhelmed, running a hand back through her shaggy bangs. "Garrus, please," she told him, quietly. "I'm not done yet. There's something else."

"Shepard, I… I can't do this right now," Garrus told her, shaking his head again. "Maybe another time. Okay? I'll call you back another time, when…" Trailing off, he took a deep breath, his blue gaze dropping from her face to linger on a spot just outside the frame of the vidcomm. "After… I've had some time to process this," he told her, speaking quieter now. "I'll… send you an e-mail when I get a chance. Let you know everything that's going on. Maybe… when I get some downtime from work, or… something." Going silent again, he faltered, frowning, his plated brow furrowing into a faint, stern line as his line of vision dropped to a spot on his desk. "I'll talk to you later, okay?" he told her, barely loud enough to hear, starting to toy distractedly with a dent in the metal surface of the desk. He seemed unable to meet her eyes as he ran his clawed finger around the impression in a small, lazy circle, seeming transfixed by the motion, almost forcibly so. "Just… keep your chin up," he told her. "Everything will turn out okay in the end. No matter what you choose to do, I… support your decision."

Shepard faltered, surprised by this vote of confidence, her own hand curling into a half-aware ball on the armrest of her chair as she stared at him. "Garrus… she's yours," she told him, quietly, her voice coming out in a soft, weary huff.

Garrus did not react at first, continuing to play with the indentation on his desk. Then, letting out a soft sigh of his own, he looked up at her again, unmoving, unflinching, his expression flat, as if he had expected her to say this but had not been looking forward to it. "You never know when to quit," he told her, his voice a quiet monotone. "Couldn't just leave it alone. Had to drive the knife in a little deeper." Pulling his hand back towards him again, he balanced it at the edge of his desk, curling it into a pensive fist as his mouth drew into a hard, thin scowl. "It's a bad joke, Shepard," he told her, solemnly, hardly seeming to notice as his clenched hand began to shake, ever so slightly. "And I don't appreciate it."

"Garrus—" Shepard began to plead, but he quickly shook his head again, cutting her off.

"I'm… gonna go now," Garrus told her, quietly, his tone short as he looked away from the vidscreen again. "I'll call you when I get a chance." Then, reaching forward towards the vid console, he severed the connection, causing the screen to go black, leaving her in curt, heavy, sinking silence.

* * *

" _Congratulations, Shepard. It's a girl."_

_Shepard turned at the sound of Miranda's voice, taking a quick look around, recognizing the vaguely familiar layout of the Minuteman Station cloning lab as she did so. The air in the lab was oddly warm, causing her to sweat a bit through her worn grey hoodie, and she quickly unzipped it, pulling it off, before instead tying it around her waist, not wanting to lose track of it. As she did so, she became consciously aware that something was different about her, and, after a moment, she realized that her stomach had gone back to being flat again, the way it had been before she had ever discovered she was pregnant. She faltered, surprised at this revelation, before reaching down to lift her shirt, investigating her now-level stomach. A tiny, barely visible scar ran the length of the lowermost part of her abdomen, the mark from an apparent caesarean section that had healed exceptionally quickly, and she frowned, a bit taken aback, before letting her undershirt fall back down again and turning her attention up towards Miranda once more. Miranda stood patiently at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the main group of gestation tanks, leaning almost nonchalantly against the railing as she waited for Shepard to collect herself._

" _Ready to go?" she asked, expectantly._

_Shepard hesitated, unsure what she meant, her brow furrowing a bit at the abruptness of the situation. "Go where?" she asked, tentatively._

" _Go see your little girl, of course," Miranda answered, giving a soft, almost disbelieving scoff, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "The stem cells started working almost immediately. She's almost completely back to normal now. The restorative process has been an enormous success." Turning then, she waved a hand, indicating for Shepard to follow behind her, before starting up the stairs towards the gestation tanks, hardly waiting for Shepard to catch up as she made her way towards the top. Shepard was quick to follow behind, not wanting to keep Miranda waiting, and, arriving at the top of the stairs, she took a look around, scanning the tanks for some sign of her daughter. Not much seemed to have changed since the first time they had been there, apart from the soft sound of bubbling liquid coming from somewhere within the room. Most of the tanks sat in cold, vacant silence, making it easy for her to spot the only active reservoir, and she quickly crossed the platform towards it, eager to see her little girl, before her footfalls began to slow, the expectant curiosity fading from her face as she realized with a pang of sinking trepidation what was waiting inside the tank for her._

_The creature in the tank was enormous, the size of a fully-grown chimpanzee, or perhaps even a bit larger. Nothing about it looked even remotely human – its arms were twisted, unnaturally long, and gnarled, draping nearly twice the length of its stooped torso, with enormous sinewy hands drifting, half-open, in the bubbling solution, showing off its long, clawed, skeletal fingers. Its legs were stunted and misshapen, tucked in under it, its feet thin and overlong, with bony, elongated toes curled in under the pads. Its head was large and abnormally round, suspended above its weak shoulders on a precariously thin stalk of a neck, with sunken black eyes and a thin slit of a mouth that both seemed unnervingly tiny in its moon-like face. At first glance the creature did not seem to have any nose at all, but when Shepard took another step in closer towards it, she could just see two miniscule slits fluttering open and closed above its mouth._

_Taking another cautious step closer to the tank, Shepard leaned in towards the bubbling cistern, lifting a hand to shade her eyes as she peered into the water within. The creature floated in saturnine silence, the only indicator that it was even alive the soft beeping of the heart monitor built into the base of the tank. Then, without provocation, the creature suddenly opened its pitch-black eyes, the skin around the bulbs retracting back towards the base, making its eyes immensely large in its sallow, skeletal face. Its pouched, ghastly skin collected in loose folds around the edges of the heinous black orbs as it stared at Shepard for an instant, before it suddenly opened its deceptively enormous mouth, revealing lines of razor-sharp, anglerfish-like teeth in sickly blackened gums, and let out an unearthly, ear-shattering, screeching howl. Its long arms flew up, scratching the glass, leaving deep nail-marks in the tank on its side as the noise reverberated through the lab, seeming unhindered by the water in the chamber. Shepard took a startled step back, reaching for Miranda, sickening terror threatening to wrench her in two as she turned her desperate, fearful gaze back towards her friend, who stood perfectly still, seeming unfazed, as if she had seen this a hundred times before._

" _What's the matter, Shepard?" Miranda asked, turning her gaze towards Shepard, seeming almost critical of her reaction. "You told me you wanted to save your child. I did what you asked. I saved her life. Is this not what you imagined?"_

" _Miranda, please," Shepard begged, flinching as the horrific shrieking grew even louder, the sound like a white-hot knife pressed against her ears, the barrage of noise making her entire head feel numb. "This isn't right! Please, this isn't right… please, you have to make it stop…!"_

" _I'm afraid I can't do that," Miranda answered, evenly, shaking her head, seeming completely unfazed by the deafening howling that now reverberated off every hidden crevice of the lab, closing in around them, trapping them inside. "There's no undoing this now. She's alive. Isn't this what you wanted?"_

_Shepard sobbed at the question, feeling her knees give way beneath her as her grip tightened on Miranda's forearm, and she collapsed towards the floor, the heavy, unremitting wave of noise pushing down on her, crushing her, causing her bones to threaten to break under the pressure. She could feel her ears begin to bleed as the cacophony continued, unrelenting, the creature howling, its mouth gaping wider, its arms seeming to grow even longer and more grotesque with every shrieking scrape of its horrific nails against the wall of the tank. "Miranda, please," Shepard begged, her voice hoarse, hot tears beginning to stream down her face as her head pulsed with pain, feeling as if her brain might burst. "Please, you have to end this! You have to make this stop! Please…!"_

" _You could have stopped this months ago," Miranda told her, her voice cold and oddly lower than before, not even bothering to look down at Shepard as she spoke. "You chose not to stop it then. Why should I help you stop it now?" Turning to look down at Shepard then, she stared at her, her expression hard, her eyes now hollow, black, and cold, ringed with loose black skin like the creature's against her deathly pale, almost translucent skin. Shepard's eyes widened in horror at the sight of her, but when she tried to pull away, she found herself yanked back again, Miranda's grip on her wrist like death, not letting her get away. Out of the corner of her eye, Shepard could see that the creature had freed itself from its constraints and had started to climb its way out of the tank, its impossibly long arms arching over the top of the lid, its emaciated hands creeping steadily down the sides as it continued to howl, deafening her, making her ears go numb with the noise. "You started this, Shepard," Miranda said, her voice warping, dark, deep, and otherworldly, her skeletal grip on Shepard's wrist tightening. Miranda opened her mouth wide, black bile spilling out between her needle-like teeth, staining her plush lips and pristine outfit as she hissed, her face growing ever more sunken and gaunt as Shepard stared at her, powerless, unable to move._

"YOU FINISH IT."

* * *

The white fluorescent lights of the laboratory were almost blinding as Shepard opened her bleary eyes, squinting hard against the glare and blinking a few times as she sought to gather her surroundings. Her head still swam with the remnants of her anaesthetic as she looked around the lab for some sign of Miranda, unable to help but feel a faint sense of déjà vu, until she finally found her standing a few feet away, her back to Shepard, looking over a datapad filled with quickly-scrolling information. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, Shepard groaned, reaching a hand to her swimming head, before suddenly realizing an unfamiliar feeling and sliding a hand up under her shirt to check. Where before her operation there had been a notable baby bump, there now remained only a fine, cauterized slit across the length of the base of her nearly-flat stomach. Feeling suddenly dizzy again, Shepard retrieved her hand from her shirt, unable to help but feel a surge of strange emotion as she lay back against her pillows once more, staring up at the ceiling, her expression blank, unsure what she was feeling at the moment but knowing she would come around to it eventually.

Hearing the sound of Shepard waking, Miranda turned, crossing the room to the makeshift bed and setting her datapad aside on a nearby cart. "How are you feeling?" she asked, gently, brushing Shepard's stray bangs out of her bleary face.

Shepard frowned, unsure how to respond, before taking a deep, contemplative breath in. "I don't know," she finally answered, honestly. "I guess 'empty' is a good word for it. I'm not really sure how to feel just yet."

"That's normal," Miranda commended, nodding, before reaching over to pick up her datapad again, giving it another glance over, checking her notes. "You'll probably have some equilibrium issues for the first day or so, and possibly some discomfort in your breasts as well. Your body has to get used to the idea that it's no longer pregnant."

"Hm," Shepard returned, shortly, unsure how else to respond. "That… makes sense I guess."

"I would recommend not getting out of bed for at least a couple days," Miranda told her, speaking frankly, her tone taking on the same clipped, sterile professionalism it had had when Shepard had first met her aboard the Lazarus Cell station. "You've just undergone a hysterectomy, as you know, which has its own set of reactionary stimuli… however, as you were also pregnant before your operation, your body will likely react as if you've had a miscarriage, minus the spotting that occurs after birth. You'll need to get plenty of rest in the first twenty-four hours, and plenty of pain medication. I've got multiple alternatives for the latter, so you're welcome to take your pick of whichever works best for you." Scrolling thoughtfully down the page of her datapad, she skimmed her report, familiarizing herself with the necessary details, before setting it down on the cart again and returning her full attention to Shepard. "Hot and cold compresses will also be good for any potential cramping that occurs, if any does occur," she continued on, matter-of-factly. "We'll have to keep a careful watch out for clotting in your legs or lungs, but you haven't shown any signs of infection thus far, which is good… we'll keep monitoring your temperature to make sure it doesn't occur later on, but it in all honesty, there's no reason why it should. The procedure was very sterile, very simple… but it's always good to be vigilant, regardless."

"Right," Shepard answered, just as short, letting out a soft, overwhelmed sigh. Only a fraction of what Miranda was saying was making its way through to her at the moment, but she figured once she had some time to think and process everything she would eventually come around to the rest. Staring up at the ceiling for another moment longer, she paused, still trying to collect her bearings, wondering if the numb impassiveness she was feeling was normal for what she had just been through. Then, shifting her weight again, she made another effort to sit up in bed, shaking her head against the haze of fatigue and ignoring the stinging pain in her stomach as she took hold of the side of the table-bed, attempting to push herself upright. "I want to see my baby," she said, insistent, turning to look up at Miranda, resolute. "I want to see the tank you put her in."

"You need rest, Shepard," Miranda returned, shaking her head, before reaching out a hand to coax her back to the pillows again. "You've just been through a major operation. Your body needs time to recover from that."

"I feel fine," Shepard insisted, stubborn, her brow furrowing in determination. Pushing herself shakily back up again, she slid her legs over the side of the bed, dropping down to her feet on the floor, feeling the chill of the laboratory flooring against her bare soles as she clung to the side of the bed for support. She could barely manage to stand upright, her still-numb legs threatening to give way under her as she took a shaky step forward, but she reached out a hand for Miranda, insistent, indicating for her to help her walk. Miranda sighed, realizing she had no choice, before pulling Shepard's arm around her shoulders and helping her take her first shaky steps forward, waiting for her to regain her balance.

"Never could stay down for long, could you?" Miranda asked, half-jokingly, giving a soft grunt as she pulled Shepard forward another step. "I really shouldn't be humouring you like this, you know. It will only cause further problems with you taking orders in future."

"You know that's not true," Shepard told her, shaking her head, giving a soft, pained breath of a laugh as she took another uncertain step forward. "I've never been good at taking orders. I'd just have gotten up to see it on my own after you left."

Miranda laughed out loud at this, half-exasperated by the truth of it, before unlooping Shepard's arm from her shoulders, allowing the Commander to stand on her own, shakily at first, but then with more resolve. Then, satisfied that Shepard could hold her own, she turned, indicating for Shepard to follow, before heading out the door of the recovery room and starting down the long, blank corridor outside. The corridor was lined on both sides with metal doors, all of them identical to the one she had just come through, making Shepard wonder how Miranda was able to navigate her way around the station with such ease. Limping up behind her as quickly as she could, Shepard followed Miranda into a large, glass-walled elevator at the end of the hall, leaning her back up against the side of it as Miranda selected the proper floor. The elevator gave a soft _ding_ as its doors slid shut, giving a gentle jostle as it began to move downward, causing Shepard to reach almost subconsciously for her cauterized wound.

"You'll be pleased to know that the transfer went entirely smoothly," Miranda informed her, causing Shepard to look up at her again, a bit surprised. "I had my reservations, my… fears, of course, of unforseen complications, but… everything went entirely as planned. A clean, perfect transfer."

"That's… wonderful," Shepard answered, trying hard not to sound too put off by the mention of Miranda's doubts. She had sounded so completely sure of herself going into the procedure that to hear her now, talking about her uncertainties on the subject, made Shepard feel much less at ease than she had been going into the whole ordeal. The elevator gave another soft jolt as it reached their floor, causing Shepard to clench her fist at her side, not wanting to let on how much pain she was in as she waited for Miranda to exit the elevator first. Following Miranda down a long hallway, they headed towards the laboratory heart of the station, Shepard pulling her thin gown more tightly around her, wondering if the chill down here were due to her lack of garments, the low altitude of the lab, or if the laboratory were kept at a lower temperature intentionally to ensure optimal functionality of the cloning tanks. Moving up to the boiler-like tank in the middle of the ring of reservoirs, Miranda placed a hand on the bar spanning one end of the tank to the other, observing the metallic container a thoughtful moment as she waited for Shepard to catch up again.

"This is it?" Shepard asked, making a face when she saw the humming cistern Miranda now stood beside. "I thought it might be one of the more… visible ones."

"This is the best one for the job," Miranda explained, shortly, patting the bar. Then, letting her hand slide off again, she returned it to her side, before beginning to slowly circle the tank, considering it, thoughtfully. "I've got tubes feeding directly into everything, as you can see," she told Shepard, pointing to what looked to be a large, sealed, drum-like vat beside the main gestation tank, attached to the main reservoir through two sturdy-looking hoses. An artificially-programmed heart monitor had been attached to the front of the drum, the machine giving a soft whirring sound as it pumped along to the beat, and Shepard frowned at the sight of the bulky hoses, wondering how something so large could perform such a perilous function, before realizing that the hefty pipes were likely protecting something much smaller and more delicate. "This is a line sending oxygenated blood into the placental sac," Miranda went on, seeming to not even notice her confusion as she tapped the first hose gently with one finger. "It then feeds it through the umbilical cord to the baby, allowing her a consistent supply of fresh, oxygenated blood, just like she would be getting inside her mother's body. Over here is another line for carrying out waste materials."

Pointing to the second tube, Miranda turned her gaze up towards Shepard again, making sure she was paying attention to her comprehensive narrative, before turning her gaze back to the tank again, returning to her explanation. "The waste materials are destroyed, and the blood is purified and reoxygenated," she continued, moving forward. "This ensures that the baby retains an entirely sterile and healthy environment. The blood in here has to be replaced every few days to ensure it doesn't get too diluted by the purgative process, but it still manages to maintain itself pretty well, even so." Moving around to the other side of the tank, she indicated for Shepard to follow, before this time pointing to what looked to be a metal cylinder fixed to the side of the tank. "This is a conduit for the administration of healthy stem cells," she added, astutely. "It injects a set amount of synthesized cells at predetermined intervals, all the while taking brain activity readings, which it then sends back to my omni-tool. It's programmed to determine the ideal rate of administration to allow for the best regenerative results, and alter its regulations based on feedback data."

"This is… a lot to take in," Shepard admitted, reaching out a curious hand towards the tank, before quickly withdrawing her hand again, afraid to touch it.

"Cloning is a complicated science, Shepard," Miranda told her, matter-of-factly. "It's not just dropping some cells in a tube and waiting for something to grow. Which is why it's so baffling my father was able to clone my mother again from cells thirty years frozen. They should have been far too degraded to work." Pausing then, she considered this, before finally letting out a soft, unsurprised scoff, her brow furrowing into a hard, critical line. "Then again, he _was_ working for the Illusive Man," she reasoned, nonplussed. "He had all sorts of experimental technology at his disposal. I suppose even degraded cells shouldn't have been too hard to restore." Sucking her lip, she thought a moment, before turning her attention up towards Shepard again, intent. "You have heard of the Barn, haven't you?" she asked, expectantly, causing Shepard to look up in surprise at the question. "The top secret Cerberus-owned genetic experimentation facility, run by that bloody creep who just called himself 'the Director'? It got blasted to pieces sometime during the War, if I'm not mistaken, but even so…" Taking a deep breath in, her frown hardened, her lips drawing into a thin, pursed line. "Good riddance," she muttered, darkly.

"I haven't heard of the Barn," Shepard admitted, her own brow furrowing faintly at the unflattering description. "What kind of experiments did Cerberus run there?"

"Mostly alien-centric gene alteration trials," Miranda answered, letting out an almost regretful sigh at having started the conversation at all. "Knowing Cerberus, they likely thought of the aliens subjects as subhuman, and so didn't see a problem with experimenting on them… I was never a part of the Barn's experiments, thank god, but I know that some of the tech used in the Lazarus Cell was derived from experimental tech from the Barn." Shaking her head then, she raised a hand, giving a curt, dismissive wave. "Either way, it's not important," she said, cutting the conversation short. "What it all boils down to is that what we have here is third-tier tech. I've done what I can with what we have, but we'll have to watch it carefully to make sure it continues to operate the way it's intended."

Shepard nodded, only marginally understanding everything Miranda was talking about, before taking a deep breath in and indicating to the tank with a nod of her head. "So, could you… determine the sex?" she asked. "When you transferred her into the tank, did you… happen to take a look, to see?"

"The sex?" Miranda asked, sounding surprised, tuning to look at her again. "I thought you said she was a girl? Have you… not actually seen your baby before?"

"I have," Shepard answered, nodding quickly. Then, pausing, she wavered a moment, before adding, truthfully, "…Kind of. Liara did an ultrasound for me back on the Normandy, so… that's all I've ever seen of her."

"Liara?" Miranda asked, now sounding sceptical, her brow furrowing a bit in doubt. "Does Liara know prenatal medicine? I thought she had a PhD, not a medical degree."

"She… does," Shepard admitted, truthfully. "It was… kind of a snap decision. The ultrasound was… it… the baby wasn't developed enough for me to really…" She frowned, faltering on her words, chewing her lip as she tried to figure out what she was trying to say. "I have no idea what she really looks like," she finally admitted, honestly. "I know she has a head, two arms, two legs, so that's… as good as I can hope for, I guess. I don't know how many toes she has, or fingers, or…" Shaking her head, she let out a huff of breath, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared intently at the blank, boiler-like metal exterior of the gestation tank. "I don't know," she said, frankly. "All I know is that she's… theoretically… functionally formed. Anything other than that is outside my knowledge."

Miranda frowned faintly at this, seeming a bit confused by her reasoning, before finally taking a deep breath in and raising her sculpted brows. "Well, unfortunately, I couldn't tell you the sex," she answered, fairly. "It's… it's difficult to tell, all things considered. As you know, the baby isn't entirely human, and I… didn't have a conclusive look during transfer." Pausing then, she frowned a bit again, bringing her hand up to rest on her hip. "If I had to warrant a guess, I'd say it's probably a girl," she went on, matter-of-factly. "Like you originally determined her to be. If only because there doesn't seem to be any… by which I mean, I didn't _notice_ any…" She faltered again, this time sucking in on her lips, before making an awkward, indicative gesture in the direction of the gestation tank. "I didn't see a penis," she told her, frankly. "Or… testicles, of any sort. Which doesn't _mean_ it's not a boy, it could very well be a boy, just with a very… small…" She stopped, her frown deepening, realizing she was digging a hole, before letting out a sharp huff of breath and crossing her arms over her chest. "Your baby is a girl," she concluded, shortly. "I'd be willing to put money on that."

Shepard nodded, trusting her judgement, before turning her attention back to the tank, taking a deep, pensive breath in before letting it out in a short, soft sigh. Miranda watched her, her gaze moving between Shepard and the faceless reservoir, before her brow began to furrow faintly, her hand coming up to rest thoughtfully against the side of her face. "Would… you like me to see if I can set up a real-time sonogram imager?" she suddenly asked, causing Shepard to hesitate, blinking a few times, before turning to look at her again, surprised. Miranda shrugged, crossing her arms, before turning her attention back to the tank again, letting out a short, contemplative breath as she gave the cistern a quick, determining once-over. "If I did that, you would be able to see your baby at any time," she added, speaking as much to herself as to Shepard, giving the process some serious thought. "It shouldn't be too hard to rig, considering… just a bit precarious getting the reader into the tank without disrupting the gestation environment."

Shepard frowned, considering the offer, before shaking her head, turning her attention back to the tank and letting out a long, contemplative sigh. "I don't… think so," she answered, honestly. "I'd rather just… leave it the way it is. I don't want to risk disrupting her, and I… I don't…" She hesitated, her mouth twitching into a hard line, before tucking her arms more self-consciously tightly across her chest, letting out another, shorter sigh. "I don't… want to get too attached to her," she confessed, more quietly this time, almost as if afraid to admit it. "Seeing her, watching her… alive, like that… if something were to happen to her after all this, I don't… I don't know that I'd be able to take it." Giving another pensive pause, she frowned deeper, her knees pressing anxiously together as she listened to the heart monitor whirring softly on the other side of the gestation tank. Despite her reasonable justification, she could not help but wonder, quietly, if what she was saying was even true, or if there was another, even more selfish reason for not wanting to see her daughter just yet. The doctor's words from the hospital camp still lingered like a bad omen in the back of her subconscious, making her fear, in some small, unspoken way, that he might be right, and her baby might actually be as horrifically deformed as he had said. She knew it was foolish to jump to conclusions, especially considering the doctor's incomplete knowledge of the situation, but she also could not quite shake the thought that she might have just sacrificed everything for nothing.

"I'd rather just… leave the tank the way it is and hope for the best," she told Miranda, working to keep her voice steady and even. "If this works, I'll see her eventually, and if it doesn't, then…" Stopping again, she trailed off once more, her folded arms tightening across her chest as she let out a long, shaky exhale, her gaze still fixed on the gestation tank. "I guess I won't," she finished, quietly. "Either way, I guess there's nothing to do now… but wait."


	39. WEEK TWENTY-SEVEN

Between the trivial amount of information Shepard had been managing to get out of Miranda concerning the progress of her child's recovery and the near-radio silence she had been getting from Garrus, the isolation on the Minuteman Station had grown to be almost maddening. In spite of his promise to call her back when he had a chance, all Shepard had received from Garrus thus far had been a few sparsely-worded e-mails detailing the rebuild effort on Palaven, and when she had tried to call him back herself, she had been redirected to a surprised-looking communications operator who had informed her that Garrus could not be reached at the moment as he was busy in the field, but he could direct her call to someone else if she wished. She had declined the offer, thanking the communications officer for his time, before disconnecting the call, letting out a heavy, disconcerted sigh, and redirecting the vidcomm to call someone else she had been meaning to talk to for a while.

Liara picked up the call almost instantly, and, after a short, bright greeting, she was only too happy to fill Shepard in on all the details she could safely disclose on her Shadow Broker network, as well as which members of the Normandy she had managed to track down after the end of the War and where a few of them could be reached. As Shepard had suspected, Joker had taken the Normandy someplace safe after the War, and he had reported in as doing well when last Liara had heard from him. Traynor, Cortez, and EDI, along with Oriana and Matilda Lawson, were all still aboard the Normandy, according to Joker, though Khalisa Al-Jilani had requested to stay on Earth after the War to keep the masses informed on current repair and rebuild efforts, as well as current shuttle schedules and important political events and decisions. Her time spent on the Normandy had apparently changed her opinion on Shepard and the Alliance, and her reports reflected her newfound sentiments, lauding the Alliance for their efforts on the War and asking the public to keep an eye out for the 'war hero' Shepard, who the hospital had finally admitted to being missing in action.

"Took them long enough," Shepard had joked at the news, wryly.

"They likely just didn't want to admit to losing you, I suppose," Liara had conceded, straightforwardly. "I can't imagine they would have gotten much good feedback as a result of it. Losing track of a patient is one thing, but when that patient is Commander Shepard—"

"Understandable," Shepard agreed, nodding along. "What happened to the rest of my crew?"

Liara hummed faintly in thought at the question, rolling her plum lips as she turned her attention to another screen outside the scope of the vidscreen, reaching over to select something before scrolling down and beginning to read. "Jacob Taylor is doing well," she reported, giving a reassuring bob of her head, her gaze flicking between Shepard and the outside screen as she read. "He and Doctor Cole have decided to wait until after their child is born to get married. According to a recent doctor visit, it's going to be a little girl, just like yours. Kasumi Goto and Zaeed Massani have vanished, likely to pursue their own interests… I can't imagine there's much work for a mercenary or a master thief on a planet full of destitute refugees." Reaching over to her screen again, she continued scrolling, looking for something else relevant to report on. "Jack and Kahlee Sanders have begun a rebuild effort for Grissom Academy," she continued on, thoughtfully. "Though they suspect they likely won't be able to secure the funding for all the repairs they'll need to do after the attack by Cerberus. Miranda Lawson—"

"Is here with me," Shepard reminded her.

"Right, right," Liara agreed, tapping something on her screen before pulling up her holo-keypad to correct it. "I keep forgetting that. Thank you."

"How is Anderson doing?" Shepard asked, anxiously, leaning in a bit closer to the screen.

"David Anderson is still on life support," Liara reported, regretfully, letting out a soft little sigh. "The good news is that he isn't doing any worse, but the bad news is he isn't doing much better, either. They're doing everything they can, but… it could really go either way at this point."

"And Mordin?" Shepard asked, hopefully.

"Mordin is doing well, as far as I know," Liara answered, a bit more optimistically this time. "Nevos is primarily a sightseeing planet – tourism and politics are their primary attractions – and so it wasn't hit very hard by the Reaper attacks. At least, from what I've heard." Shrugging a bit, she returned her attention to her outside screen, scrolling down a bit further to try to find something else to report on. "They mostly went after culturally and technologically advanced homeworlds," she explained, practically. "Nevos is neither of those. Mordin should be perfectly safe, but I can get you his contact information if you'd like to check up on him, yourself."

"I would like that," Shepard agreed, folding her hands in front of her as she waited for Liara to continue her report.

"Samara left Earth to continue her work as a Justicar," Liara went on, reading from her outside screen. "I hear her daughter has also started taking steps to join her in that profession, which is… commendable, I suppose. With the destruction of the Ardat-Yakshi monastery, I'm not sure what other options she had open to her. It's a worthy line of work, regardless, if a violent one." Her brow furrowing a bit in thought, she continued scrolling downward, her malt-blue eyes trailing across the lines of text Shepard could not see as she looked for something else to tell her. "Grunt returned to TuChanka along with Wrex and Bakara," she added then, raising her painted brows at the news. "Apparently he's been promoted to Warlord under Urdnot Wrex for his service in the Reaper War. Tali returned to the Migrant Fleet, to continue her work as an Admiral… hmm." Pausing then, she retrieved her hand, staring at the outside screen for a moment before turning her attention back towards Shepard and letting out a soft, thwarted sigh. "That's all I have on Tali and the Fleet," she told her. "No mention of the other Admirals or progress on the quarian cooperation with the geth. That might just be my sources coming up short, however. I can give you the contact information for the Fleet and you can ask after that yourself, if you want."

"That would be good," Shepard agreed, nodding along. "Any chance to catch up with Tali would be great."

"I'll forward that contact information to your e-mail," Liara returned, typing something into her holo-keypad. "Along with Mordin's information. I'll send it all to you at once." Then, turning her attention back to the outside screen, she scrolled down the pages of text again, looking for something else relevant to talk about. "Ashley Williams got in contact with her sisters," she reported, optimistically. "They've moved into a small housing unit together, purchased on Ashley's Alliance salary, until they can afford enough to move into something larger. That likely won't happen until some progress has been made on the rebuild effort on Earth – most of what's being built now are compact, simplistic housing units just to give shelter to those still stranded."

"What about Vega?" Shepard asked, her brow furrowing faintly.

"Vega has been spearheading an effort to find you," Liara told her, turning her gaze towards her, worriedly. "Apparently Khalisa's radio news network received an anonymous tip that you were in some sort of trouble or danger. Vega has put together a reward for any relevant information leading to your whereabouts." Letting out a soft breath, she frowned again, turning her attention back to her information screen and starting to scroll down the page once more. "I'm not sure what kind of person would go around spreading rumours like that," she added, shortly. "It's cruel, really, making up fallacies to make people worry about you more than they already do."

"Do you have any information on Thane?" Shepard asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Nothing on Thane," Liara returned, shaking her head as she perused her information screen. "There's a record saying he fought in the Reaper War, but after that… nothing. He just vanishes. I suppose I can't really be surprised, all things considered…" Letting out a soft sigh, she frowned again, turning her attention back towards Shepard. "I had really hoped we might be able to save him," she said, folding her gloved hands in front of her, worriedly. "Perhaps he got a ride off-world. The information I gave him on my contact was very vague, but… he has resources of his own. Perhaps he managed to find a way to do what I couldn't."

"I hope so," Shepard answered, frankly, though she knew the chances of that were slim. Thane was good, but with all the resistance and outbound gridlock facing those stranded on Earth, it was unlikely even someone with his skill and contacts had managed to find a way off-world. "And what about Garrus?" she asked then, turning her attention back to Liara. "Have you been able to get in contact with Garrus?"

Liara sighed, her shoulders falling a bit as she rested her perusing hand on her desk, tapping the gloved pad of her thumb anxiously against the side of her index finger. "Garrus has just been busy, Shepard," she told her, honestly, shaking her head. "He's really not avoiding you. I managed to tap into his e-mails, and he's just… very, very busy. They've got him answering requests at all hours of the night… I don't know when he has time to sleep." Frowning then, she paused in her thoughtful fidgeting, her plum lips drawing into a thin, curious line as she considered Shepard through the vidscreen. "He's doing an excellent job in assisting the rebuild effort, to his credit," she added, matter-of-factly. "Haven't you heard _anything_ from him? An e-mail, or… anything at all?"

"I mean," Shepard answered, giving a curt, truthful shrug of her shoulders. "He sent e-mails. But that's… it's not the same as a vidcomm call. I didn't mean to upset him last time, I just thought… maybe…" She faltered, trailing off, considering, her brow furrowing into a hard, thoughtful line, before letting out a heavy huff of breath, her shoulders falling as she sank a bit lower in her chair. "I don't know what I thought," she admitted, quieter. "I thought he'd want to talk to me, maybe try to work things out, ever since I told him… but I guess not. I guess… he really did care more than I gave him credit for."

"You thought he wouldn't care?" Liara asked, sounding surprised, her painted brows moving quickly upward. "Shepard…"

"I… no," Shepard admitted, quickly, feeling suddenly guilty. "I… did, think he'd care. I just… I don't know. I thought he'd be more understanding. Like… he'd realize I didn't mean it. That it wasn't my fault." She paused again, thinking about this, before letting out a soft sigh and dropping her gaze away from the screen once more. "Except that it is my fault," she admitted. "All of this is my fault. I should have just told somebody, Liara. I should have just…" Trailing off, she shook her head, tucking her arms across her chest and burying her hands under her armpits as she let out a soft, disappointed sigh. "I should have aborted her when I had the chance," she said, even quieter. "Then none of this would have happened. Garrus wouldn't be mad at me, and I… wouldn't be stuck here, waiting for something that's probably never going to happen."

"You don't mean that," Liara told her, shaking her head, determinedly. "I know you, Shepard. If you really hadn't wanted to have this baby, you would have gotten rid of her by now."

"I… just don't know that that's true, Liara," Shepard returned, looking up at her friend again. "Do you know what she said? Miranda. You know what Miranda said?" Taking a deep breath in, she dug her heels into the metal flooring of the station, her expression twisting as her hands clenched into fists under her arms, preparing herself to go on. "She said if my baby survived – _if_ she lived – she would be severely developmentally challenged," she said. "I don't know how to deal with that, Liara. I was terrified just thinking about raising a baby who _didn't_ need extra help, but this… this is something else. Something I'm not sure I'm capable of dealing with." Pulling her hands out from under her arms, she leaned forward in her seat again, folding her hands anxiously in front of her as she stared earnestly through the screen at Liara. "What if something goes wrong, Liara?" she asked, barely speaking above a worried whisper. "What if something happens, and she's… she's just… she's _miserable_. I don't want to do that to her. I don't want to be that person."

"Do you honestly believe that's what's going to happen?" Liara asked, seriously, leaning forward in her seat as well. "Do you really think this will all be for nothing? Shepard, Miranda is the best there is—"

"You know what Garrus called me?" Shepard asked, cutting her off. "Cruel. He said forcing the baby to continue living when she was legally braindead was cruel. And then he compared me to Cerberus." Taking a deep breath in, she wet her lips, her hands starting to fidget unconsciously in front of her as her expression furrowed deeper, trying hard to keep her voice from shaking as she went on. "I don't want to be no better than Cerberus, Liara," she told her, solemnly. "Is what I'm doing really that cruel? It's been… weeks, with barely any sign of improvement in brain activity. What if, by trying to make things better, I'm just making things worse?"

Liara sighed, leaning back in her chair, her hands folded thoughtfully in front of her on her desk as she stared at Shepard through the vidscreen, weary. "I think the only person who can make that decision is you," she finally told her, frankly. "I think what you're doing is wonderful. That child clearly means a lot to you, and from what I can tell, it seems like you're doing everything you can to save her. But if you don't feel the same way…" She paused, frowning faintly, before her expression cleared and she shrugged her shoulders, offering another soft, tired huff of breath. "It's not my position to tell you how to feel," she said, continuing onward. "You have to do what feels right for you. I'm not here to tell you what to do, only… to hope you're happy with whatever decision you end up making."

"I'm not asking you to tell me how to feel," Shepard answered, her brow furrowing, unable to help but feel a bit offended at the implication. "I was just… hoping for some insight, I guess. Everything feels like I'm running in circles, like… I try to do something good, something decent, and I just end up shooting myself in the foot instead." Clenching her hands into fists in front of her, she took in a sharp breath, glancing over her shoulder, before turning her attention back to Liara and indicating back in the direction of the lab. "What if Garrus doesn't even want the child when he sees her?" she asked, a bit harsher than intended. "Even if this does work, even if she does survive, what will happen if he takes one look at her and decides he can't deal with being her father?"

"Do you really think Garrus would do that?" Liara asked, her voice practicedly impassive.

Shepard faltered, thinking about this, halfway between anger and humiliation, before finally deflating again, defeated, the hand still curled in a fist in front of her loosening until it lay flat on the desk. "No," she answered, honestly, shaking her head and letting out a soft sigh. "I don't know what I was thinking. Garrus is a good guy, he wouldn't do that. I'm just… trying to talk myself out of it, I guess. Trying to be realistic. But…" Looking up at Liara again, she made a face, her hand fidgeting absentmindedly on the desk in front of her. "None of this makes any sense, Liara," she told her, quieter this time, almost pleading. "I just want something to make sense for once."

Liara nodded, understanding, turning her malt-blue gaze downward as she took in a deep, solemn breath. Then, looking up at Shepard again, she paused, thoughtful, before offering her a soft, reassuring, if somewhat forced-looking smile. "I have to get back to work," she told her. "It was good talking with you, Shepard." Then, her smile fading a bit, she tilted her head to one side, considering Shepard with a sympathetic gaze, before letting out another gentle, melancholy sigh. "Don't be too hard on yourself, okay?" she added, earnestly, causing Shepard to look up at her again, a bit surprised. "Everything will turn out all right. You'll see. Take care of yourself, Shepard."

"I will," Shepard answered, shortly, nodding in agreement. "And… you, too, Liara. Take care." Then, leaning back in her chair again, she watched as Liara leaned forward towards her vidscreen, offering Shepard one last, encouraging smile, before pressing the button on the side and disconnecting the call.

* * *

A soft knock on the door frame of the rec room made Shepard look up from her holographic puzzle in surprise, frowning a bit as she craned her neck to peer down at Miranda from the top of the stairs. The last time Miranda had come to find her here had been to deliver some dire news, and so Shepard could not help but feel a bit on edge as she dragged the digital piece she had been trying to place back to the edge of the board, watching as Miranda began to make her way up the flight of stairs and across the platform towards her. Miranda seemed entirely at ease as she approached, however, which allowed Shepard to relax a bit as she came to stand beside her at the table. Miranda paused, considering the board, tilting her head to one side to get a better look at the puzzle, before taking in a deep, thoughtful breath and turning her attention to Shepard instead. "There's an incoming message waiting for you on the holocomm station," she said, sucking in on her lower lip. "I think it's Admiral Hackett." Then, reaching down to the puzzle piece Shepard had set aside, she dragged it forward onto the board, setting it in place with a soft _beep,_ before withdrawing her hand again and returning to considering the puzzle once more.

At this news, Shepard turned to look back at Miranda with a faint, surprised frown. "Hackett?" she asked, taken aback. "Hackett knows how to reach me here?"

Miranda shrugged, dragging another puzzle piece into place on the board, before folding her arms over her ribcage, cupping each elbow in the opposite palm as she gave a soft, pensive sigh. "I didn't tell him where to find you," she answered, honestly, seeming unfazed by this. "He must have tracked you from your e-mail origin signal. I haven't been making efforts to mask our location. That takes station energy, and we have limited energy as it is." Shrugging again, she let her hands drop back to her sides, indicating for Shepard to follow behind her as she turned away towards the stairs again, heading out of the rec room before starting to make her way towards the heart of the station. "I've been using most of our energy to run the gestation lab," she continued on, matter-of-factly. "With Cerberus disbanded and the previous crew missing in action or dead, I didn't think it was important to take steps to hide us from civilization. If anyone comes looking for us, I can put the station on lockdown, but until then, I think we're doing just fine."

"That makes sense," Shepard agreed, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. "I'm glad you know what you're doing, Miranda. I wouldn't have any idea what to do with a station like this."

"I got used to running a station alone on the Lazarus Cell," Miranda explained, shortly, stopping in front of the central elevator to press the button going up. "Wilson was there with me, of course, but… we all know how useful Wilson was." Looking up, she watched as the elevator doors slid open with a soft _ding_ , allowing them inside, before stepping in ahead of Shepard and making her way to the row of buttons to select their designated floor. "Everyone else was always coming and going," she went on, letting out a soft sigh as she moved to the back wall of the elevator, leaning back against the cool siding as she watched the grated sides of the elevator shaft passing outside the glass-panelled lift. "Jacob Taylor included. He was more of a… supply man. Weaponry specialist. Came to deliver mechs and check up on our systems every once in a while, make sure we were running smoothly. Mostly it was just me and Wilson… and the Illusive Man, via vidcomm, watching our every move."

"Sounds tough," Shepard commented, frowning a bit.

"It was," Miranda agreed, letting out a soft sigh. "But we got used to it after a while. Or, most of it. You never really do get over the feeling of being watched." Stopping then, she stood up from her spot against the wall of the elevator, watching as the lift coasted to a smooth stop, the doors sliding open with another soft _ding_ as it waited for them to get off on their floor. "I'll be in the lab if you need anything," she told Shepard, stepping out of the elevator ahead of her and waving a hand in the direction of the lab. "Everything is running smoothly thus far, but if you have any questions, you know where to find me." Then, turning away from her again, she headed in the direction of the station laboratory, leaving Shepard to her own devices at the vidcomm station.

It felt strange to use the Cerberus holocomm again – though it was similar to the pit station she had had aboard the Normandy, she had not utilized this particular comm since her first days working for the Illusive Man, and she could not help but feel a sense of subconscious apprehension as she stepped onto the circular platform. The comm system gave a soft series of _beeps_ as it registered her weight activating the system, and no sooner had it passed her through when Hackett's blue form flickered into life in front of her, his hands folded dutifully behind his back as he waited for her to pick up the line. Hackett looked exactly the same as she remembered him, apart from a single, healing, taped-over cut on his cheek, his tough, grizzled expression unmoving as he regarded her through the holocomm. "Shepard," he greeted her, straightforwardly, wasting no time on sentiment. "It's been a while. Last I heard you were in intensive care for some serious injuries. I didn't hear that you'd been released."

"I got out a few weeks ago," Shepard told him, just as shortly. "Left on one of the outbound shuttles. I've been keeping kind of a low profile since then." She paused, considering going on, but figured it was unimportant to point out that the shuttle she had left on had been a private one, and that she had never actually been officially released from hospital care, especially considering her otherwise questionable decisions up to that point. She had thought the hospital might have gotten in contact with her superiors at the first sign of her disappearance, but if Hackett knew that she had left of her own accord, or that she had been pregnant at the time she had been brought into the hospital, he was being surprisingly quiet about it. "I'm sorry I didn't stick around long enough to let you know what was going on," she added, trying hard not to make a guilty face as she shifted her weight anxiously to her back foot. "But… I figured it was probably better this way, all things considered."

"Understandable," Hackett returned, offering her a curt nod of confirmation. Then, taking a deep breath in, he cleared his throat, looking down for a moment as if to check something, before looking up at her again, just as sternly. "Listen, Shepard," he told her, frankly. "Some of your superiors were talking, and we decided that we'd like to honour you with a big coming-home ceremony, if you'd be up for it. Everyone in the Alliance would be invited to honour your dedication and service." He paused then, his bushy brow furrowing a bit in thought, before taking another breath, preparing to go on. "We'd also like to promote you to the rank of Captain at the same time," he added, speaking a bit slower this time. "If you would be willing to accept the honour."

Shepard hesitated, taken aback, unsure how to respond to such a sudden, prodigious offer. The idea that Hackett not only wanted her to continue her career in the Alliance, but wanted to honour and promote her for her service to the galaxy despite all the questionable calls she had made up to then, was a bit more than she could wrap her head around at the moment. She stood in silence for a long minute, trying to come to terms with this idea, before finally shifting back to her front foot, wetting her lips as she took a deep breath in. "I'm… honoured," she told him, honestly, unsure what else there was to say. "But… I don't think I'm ready for a large ceremony. In fact…" She paused again, trailing off, uncertain, before taking a deep breath in and letting it out in a short, heavy sigh. "I'd prefer to just… retire, Sir," she told him, candidly, trying hard not to flinch at the word. It felt so strange coming off her tongue; until then she had always considered herself a career military woman, someone to whom retirement was synonymous with death, but after everything she had been through, she could not see herself continuing on in the service with the same enthusiasm she had had for her work even barely six months prior. "Maybe just a small, private ceremony, without a lot of pomp and circumstance," she added, hopefully, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie to keep him from seeing her nervous fidgeting. "Just you, my mother, and… Admiral Anderson, if he's feeling better by then."

"Admiral Anderson is in a coma," Hackett reminded her, stolidly. "We're not sure if 'feeling better' is a viable option at this point."

"Still?" Shepard asked, discouraged by this news. "I thought the doctors said there was a chance he'd come out of it. Why isn't he getting better?"

"Admiral Anderson lost a lot of blood on the Citadel," Hackett explained, gravely. "He was in hypovolemic shock when we found him. Coma had to be induced so as to prevent his body from attacking itself and shutting down." Taking a deep breath in, Hackett held it, his shoulders stiffening with the motion, before he let it out again in a long, solemn sigh. "It's been seven weeks since he was put into the coma," he added, solemnly. "Kahlee Sanders said at the start that she would give him three months to recover until she pulled life support. She figured it would be kinder that way."

"How are his chances looking?" Shepard asked, trying hard not to make an expectant face.

"Not good," Hackett answered, honestly, shaking his head. "Best case, we're looking at severe kidney damage. That's easy enough to fix, if we can find a replacement donor. Then there's always the possibility he'll develop gangrene in one or more of his limbs from a lack of circulation and have to have something amputated, but even that shouldn't be too hard to deal with. Thank god for modern prosthetics."

"And worst case?" Shepard asked, anxiously. Then, shaking her head, she quickly held up a hand, stopping him from explaining. "Nevermind," she said, frankly. "I don't need to know."

Hackett frowned, his bushy brow furrowing, his thin lips pursing in a hard, taut line as he let out a short, soft exhale. "I think a small ceremony can be arranged," he told her, returning to the conversation at hand. "It's a pity you won't be returning to the service, but if that's your decision I won't argue with it. Just be sure to let us know when you're in local space again and we'll get that ceremony set up for you." Then, nodding towards her again, he straightened his posture, drawing his heels in together as he took another deep, deferential breath in. "It was a pleasure working with you, Commander," he told her. "Hackett out."

* * *

Shepard opened and closed her fingers around the star-pattern stress ball she had found in one of the crew members' nightstands as she waited for the vidcomm link to pick up on the other side, watching the little blue loading symbol spinning around and around as it searched for a signal. Liara had been commendably prompt about sending her the contact information she had asked for, and, with nothing better to do, she had decided that now was as good a time as any to test it out. The vidcomm screen gave a cheerful _beep_ as it located a satellite in the Silean Nebula, and Shepard looked up, pausing in her nervous squeezing as the loading symbol began to spin faster, making the final link to its outgoing destination. The screen flashed a few times as the line was picked up, and Shepard could not help a small smile from inching across her face at the sight of Mordin quickly taking a seat in front of the vidcomm screen, as eager as she remembered him as he stared back at her with an expression of delight. "Shepard," he greeted her, brightly, his lids flicking quickly over his eyes in excitement at the sight of her. "Long time no see. Did not expect to hear from you. Was surprised when Doctor T'Soni contacted me to say you might call."

"Liara is a terrible Shadow Broker," Shepard answered, letting out a soft, fond chuckle in return, before allowing the stress ball to fall back to her lap, turning her full attention on Mordin. "She can't keep a secret to save her life. I was hoping to make it a surprise."

"Still surprised," Mordin assured her, agreeably. "Always good to hear from you. Looking well."

"How is Nevos?" Shepard asked, leaning forward a bit in her seat. "Hopefully the War didn't affect you too badly over there."

"Nevos known for tourism," Mordin answered, matter-of-factly. "As can be imagined, not much tourism going on these days. No disposable income after the War. Metropolis nearly deserted." Having said this, he turned the vidscreen around, holding it up for her so that it looked out over the sprawling landscape beyond. "Fascinating infrastructure," he commented, off-screen. "Corporate arcologies everywhere. Supposed to be secret, but not much effort put into hiding. No need. No large-scale regulations to keep them in check." Turning the vidscreen back around towards himself again, he took a deep breath in, closing his almond eyes halfway, before the edges of his cheerful mouth began to twist faintly upward in a wry smile. "Underhanded business practices hand in hand with crooked politics," he remarked, drolly. "All against a mountainous dual-moon backdrop. Very romantic. Can't complain."

"It sounds great," Shepard told him, letting out another soft laugh. "And how are you doing, Mordin? Feeling okay?"

"Doing quite well," Mordin commended, offering a short, confirming bob of his head in return. "Arm healed nicely. Head healed as well, albeit a bit slower. Also, did not realize I could tan. Pleasant surprise." Holding up his arm then, he turned it over, examining the autumn tones of his skin, before letting it drop back down to his lap and returning his attention to Shepard once more. "Heard from my nephew," he added, quickly, seeming to perk up again as he remembered this detail. "Tells me he has a new project. Also new prospective lab assistant. Not certain what happened to last assistant… likely killed in Reaper attacks. Either way, very exciting."

"That _is_ exciting," Shepard agreed. "I'm glad he's doing okay, wherever he is."

"Somewhere in the Phoenix Massing Cluster, I think," Mordin answered, helpfully. "Doesn't matter. Point is, he is doing well. But, how are you, Shepard? Doing well also, I hope?"

Shepard hesitated, considering telling him the truth of her worries, before taking in a deep breath and letting it out in a soft, tired sigh. "I'm all right, Mordin," she told him, honestly. "Can't really complain. The War is over, so that's… good, I guess."

"Can see that you're no longer pregnant," Mordin observed, steepling his fingers in front of him, getting right to the point. "Remember hearing from Liara after… traumatizing incident. Seemed intent on keeping foetus alive at the time. Change of heart? Or attempt to save foetus after Leviathan incident failed?"

"Neither," Shepard told him, shaking her head. "I had… another incident. Miranda Lawson determined the only way to keep the baby alive would be to take her out of my body."

"Interesting," Mordin observed, nodding in return, not bothering to press the matter. "Will not argue with Miss Lawson's determinations. Not privy to details. Also, she? Indicates female. Would have guessed male. Very interesting."

"You know, everyone keeps saying that," Shepard told him, frowning a bit, though she could not help a faint, curious smile from turning up the edges of her lips in contrast. "I have no idea why."

"Meant no disrespect," Mordin assured her, holding up his hands, his lids flicking quickly over his eyes as he spoke. "Simply meant, always imagined you having a boy. But, can see you with a girl just as well. Makes no difference." Letting his hands fall back down again, Mordin took a deep breath in, considering Shepard with a warm, fond look. "Good to hear from you, Shepard," he told her. "Wish I had more exciting news. Nevos very peaceful. Quiet. Can't complain. Plenty of seashells to experiment on. But… do sometimes miss the exhilaration of the Normandy." Hesitating then, he held up a finger, shaking his head, before quickly correcting himself, "Would not trade one for the other, however. Much prefer Nevos at this point in my life. Just… sometimes miss the unpredictability. Never know what will happen next. Like… turian-human hybrid foetus, for instance."

Shepard laughed at the observation, unable to help herself, before shaking her head and turning her gaze down from the vidcomm screen to her desk. "Yeah," she agreed, honestly. "I miss it too, Mordin. I miss the people, mostly… my crew. The missions could be nervewracking, but you guys…" Taking a deep breath in, she looked up again, offering him a sad, pallid smile. "You guys always made it worth it," she told him.

Mordin chuckled at the sentiment, offering another reassuring nod of his head. "Did have an excellent Commander, after all," he returned, candidly. "Would not have been possible without her."

Shepard smiled again at this, more sincerely this time, before leaning in on her elbows towards the vidcomm screen, looking up affectionately into Mordin's burnt-umber face. "It's good to see you, Mordin," she told him, gratefully. "I don't know where I'd be without you."

"Likely still working for Cerberus," Mordin answered, before giving a short, impish little chortle in return.

* * *

The circular loading symbol on the blue vidscreen looped around and around as it searched for a signal, and Shepard could not help but feel a bit on edge as she waited for it to connect. She knew it was likely all in her head, but it seemed to take more and more time for the signal to go through every time she tried to make a call to Palaven, almost as if the cosmos knew how anxious it made her and was making her wait on purpose. When the call finally did manage to link through, Shepard was unsurprised to find that the person picking up on the other end was a communications officer, this time a different officer than she had gotten the first time. The officer asked her for her name and who she was trying to reach, and when she told him her information, he informed her, just as the other officer had, that Garrus was busy in the field, but that he could relay her call to the next highest ranking official who might be able to get her message to him. Shepard had hesitated, considering declining again, before deciding that it could not hurt to see who was next in charge and accepting the transfer, sitting back in her seat as the screen went blue again, the maddening circular symbol spinning around in blank space as she waited for the call to pass through.

The turian who answered the transferred call was hunched over a datapad when the call finally went through, and he lifted a hand to the screen, indicating for her to wait a moment before he could address her concerns. Shepard frowned at the setback, drumming her fingers anxiously against the line of her desk, before letting out a short, sharp huff of breath and leaning in forward towards the screen on her elbows. "I need your help," she told him, shortly. "I can see you're busy, but I've been trying to get in contact with Primarch Victus' resident Reaper advisor and he isn't answering any of my c—" Suddenly, she stopped, cutting her explanation short, her eyes growing wide as she recognized the face of her new, ranking contact through the vidcomm screen. "Sidonis?" she asked, taken aback. "Lantar Sidonis? Is that you?"

Sidonis looked up at the sound of his name, faltering a moment, unsure who was asking, before his eyes suddenly widened at the sight of Shepard, his mandibles flaring out from his chin as he gaped at her, too astonished to react immediately. He looked as if he might be ill at the sight of her, and for a moment he simply stared, his hand twitching in front of him, as if seriously considering simply hanging up on her and pretending this run-in had never occurred. Then, clearing his throat again, he clenched his fist, dropping his hand into his lap, before offering her a short, awkward nod of his head. "Commander," he said, forwardly. "How… can I help you?"

"I…" Shepard faltered, still too surprised to answer immediately. Then, taking a deep breath, she leaned in forward towards the vidscreen, frowning as she considered him, causing him to lean a bit away in return, as if nervous she might actually come through the screen to his side. "What are you doing here, Sidonis?" she asked, not bothering to try to be delicate. "Last time I saw you, we were dropping you off to work on the Crucible Project. You're still a criminal as far as your government is concerned – how did you go from working on the Crucible to working on the rebuild effort on Palaven?"

"I actually have an explanation for that," Sidonis answered quickly, holding up a helpful finger and sitting up straighter in his seat. "Primarch Victus afforded me a full pardon for my work on the Crucible Project. Because of that, they gave me a job in worker relations for the rebuild effort. It's my job to listen for workplace grievances and relay them to my superiors at the top so they can work to fix them." Letting his hand drop down again, he offered her an encouraged expression, his plated countenance brightening a bit as his mandibles bobbed hopefully at his chin. "So far it's been a pretty effective method," he added. "There's been only a couple minor scuffles since I started working, and they were mostly over things management couldn't fix. Personal matters, things like that."

Shepard paused, surprised by this explanation. Then, leaning back in her seat again, she nodded, resting her hand on the table, thoughtfully rubbing the side of her index finger with the pad of her thumb. "It sounds like you're doing good work," she told him. "I'm proud of you, Sidonis. You really turned yourself around."

At this, Sidonis looked down again, fidgeting with his hands in his lap, his mandibles starting to twitch a bit faster, a sign of embarrassment Shepard had learned by watching Garrus' reactions. "It's a big responsibility," Sidonis finally acknowledged, looking up at her again, trying his hardest to appear unaffected by her hard-won vote of confidence. "But they seem to trust me well enough to do it. Garrus was actually the one who vouched for me, believe it or not. He said… if anyone knew how to spot a plot in the making, it was someone who had done it once, himself." Having said this, he suddenly paused, thinking on it, before letting out a low, soft huff of breath and dropping his yellow gaze to his holo-keypad, beginning to tap distractedly at the edge of the frame. "Which is… I guess his way of saying he still hasn't forgiven me for betraying him back when we worked together," he added, painfully straightforward. "But… still, he got me a job. I'm grateful for that, at least."

"Garrus is a good guy," Shepard agreed, openly. She paused a moment, considering whether to pry further, before clearing her throat gently and leaning in a bit closer to the screen. "Have… you heard from him at all?" she asked, hesitantly. "Garrus? Has he… said anything about me, maybe?"

At this question, Sidonis looked up at her again, his plated brow furrowing faintly in a look of surprise. "About you?" he repeated, sounding taken aback. He paused a moment, thinking about it, trying to remember if he had heard anything of interest, before finally shaking his head and drawing his hand back in towards him again. "No, I… haven't really heard much from him about you," he answered, honestly. "Then again, I don't really talk to him much, and… well, we're not exactly close. Not anymore." He faltered then, considering his answer, before looking down from Shepard again, frowning a bit. "I don't think he would talk to me about you even if he wanted to," he added, starting to play with his holo-keypad again. "…Wanted to talk about you, that is. I don't think he trusts me with that kind of information. Not that I would do anything with it, mind you, just that…" He faltered again, pausing momentarily in his fidgeting, before turning his yellow gaze up towards her again, letting out a tired huff of breath. "It's a long process, earning back his trust," he told her, solemnly. "It's… hard for him to let go of wrongs. Bad ones, at least. Small grievances, they roll off like water. But big things…"

"I understand," Shepard told him, just as staid.

Sidonis gave a soft scoff at this, shaking his head as he withdrew his hand again. "I don't know that you do," he told her, frankly. "You pretty much walk on air, as far as he's concerned… to use a human idiom."

"I think you mean walk on water," Shepard corrected, frowning a bit. "It's a reference to a human religious text—"

"It doesn't matter," Sidonis argued, cutting her off. "Garrus uses them all the time, or at least he tries to. None of them make any sense to me." Shepard stifled a small, fond smile at this revelation, trying to keep her expression as neutral as possible as she waited for Sidonis to continue on. Taking in a deep breath, Sidonis held it for a moment, annoyed, before finally letting it out in a short, sharp huff. "Listen," he told her, frankly. "I'll see what I can do. Y'know… about telling Garrus you're trying to get in contact with him. I don't know that I'll be able to do much, but… I'll do what I can, regardless." Pausing then, his frown deepened a bit, his mandibles tapping thoughtfully against his chin, before his expression suddenly cleared and he looked up at her once more, his yellow eyes sincere. "I mean… it's the least I can do for you," he told her, more earnestly now. "And Garrus, too. Without the two of you, I'd still be rotting in a jail cell on the Citadel. In fact, I'd probably be dead by now… all things considered."

"Right," Shepard agreed, shortly, not wanting to get into it. The memory of the mangled bodies strewn throughout the halls of the Citadel was bad enough without the thought of people she knew having been part of the carnage. Sidonis gave another pause, his mandibles hovering near his chin, before picking up his datapad again and starting to put something into it. Shepard craned her neck a bit, trying to see what he was typing, only to realize her in-ear translator could not help her read the written Palev dialect and sitting back down in her seat again, defeated. Setting his datapad aside once more, Sidonis turned his attention back to her, letting out a short, tired sigh as he placed his hands on the desk in front of him.

"From what I can tell, Garrus has put in a request specifically not to take outside calls," he told her, matter-of-factly. "He says the distraction detracts from his ability to do his work. According to my records, he's made it clear that he only wishes to take calls from family." Frowning again, he shrugged his broad shoulders, helpless and disappointed. "I'm sorry, Commander," he told her, honestly. "I can put in an appeal for reconsideration, but I can't override a direct request. I don't have that authority."

"That's okay, Sidonis," Shepard told him, letting out a short sigh of her own. "Don't worry about it. I appreciate you trying, anyway. I guess he's just… busy, with his work." Sinking a bit deeper into her chair, she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, pausing a moment, considering him, before forcing an awkward, crooked smile. "You're all doing good work over there," she told him. "I don't know that I'd be able to do what you're doing. Rebuilding an entire planet, it's… a lot to think about."

"Hm," Sidonis answered, folding his hands together on his desk. "I appreciate the sentiment, Commander, but after everything you've done for the galaxy, the work I'm doing here kind of pales in comparison."

"That's not true," Shepard told him, forwardly. "You can't undermine the work you're doing. Without people like you and Garrus, there wouldn't _be_ a Palaven."

"I guess so," Sidonis answered, letting his gaze fall back to his folded hands, his mandibles giving gentle, thoughtful tics against his chin as he spoke. "But I'm just one cog in a bigger wheel. You're a real hero, Commander Shepard." Looking up at her again, he took in another breath, considering her, before the datapad at his elbow began to beep, signifying an incoming message. Quickly picking up the datapad, he scrolled to the top, checking the memorandum, before turning his attention back to Shepard, his mandibles moving much more enthusiastically now. "I have to go," he told her, shortly. "It was good talking with you, Commander." Then, reaching forward to the vidcomm screen, he shut it off, causing the screen to go black, leaving her alone with her thoughts once more.

Shepard frowned at the hasty cessation, leaning back in her chair again, before letting out another deep, thoughtful sigh and stretching her legs out in front of her. "A real hero," she repeated, quietly. "I just wish I believed that."


	40. WEEK THIRTY-TWO

Just as Miranda had promised, after a few weeks of discomfort from the initial extraction, it had not taken Shepard's body long to get used to the fact that she was no longer pregnant and return to its previous state of functionality. She had a hard time remembering exactly what her body had felt like before her pregnancy, but she had to admit that she much preferred not having her socks cut into her swollen ankles whenever she stood still for more than a few minutes at a time. She also had to admit that the lack of periods was another bonus she had not even thought about before, and almost made up for the idea that she would never be able to have another child past this one. That thought still made her sad from time to time, but usually only when she was supposed to be sleeping, but instead would stay up staring at the stars projected on the ceiling of the crew quarters by a light-up mobile left behind by one of the previous crew. She had never really thought of herself as the mothering type, but long days and nights with nothing to do but think about what would come next had left her wondering what life might have been like with multiple children, and if she might not regret her decision somewhere down the road.

Miranda had come to find her in the rec room that day, something Shepard had gotten used to in the past few months on the station. At first, she had dreaded the sight of Miranda coming to find her to tell her news, but now she had come to realize that her presence generally only meant an update on the progress of her child's development in the tank. Sitting down across from her at the rec room table, Miranda pressed her datapad to her chest, looking down over the game of checkers Shepard was playing against the VI before turning her attention back up again. "How are you feeling?" Miranda asked, causing Shepard to look up in surprise at the question. Pulling up her medical chart, Miranda gave it a quick once-over, scrolling down to the bottom of the file before looking up at Shepard again. "Anything I should know about?" she asked. "Any lingering discomfort, or… unexpected symptoms…?"

"I think I'm doing okay," Shepard told her, turning her attention back to the board again. "Nothing major that I can think of. Just… thoughts, sometimes. Nothing big." Reaching out, she moved a piece, watching as it jumped over one of the computer's pieces, claiming it. The VI gave a beep of disappointment as the holographic piece flickered out, reappearing on the edge of the board in a neat line near Shepard's elbow.

"Thoughts?" Miranda asked, interestedly, placing her datapad down on the table in front of her, causing the VI to give another beep of protest as its setup was interrupted. "What kind of thoughts? Thoughts of regret?"

Shepard paused a moment, considering this, her thumb tapping absentmindedly against her opposite forearm as she let out a soft, pensive breath. Then, looking up at Miranda again, she shrugged, seeming to completely forget about the game of checkers still laid out in front of her. "Thoughts of relief, mostly," she answered, straightforwardly. "For her, more than anything else. Relief that I decided to do what I did… letting you take her out of me."

"You made a good call, Shepard," Miranda told her, honestly.

"I know," Shepard returned, giving another affirming nod. "It had to be done. And besides, I'm kind of glad I decided not to continue with… her… internally. You know. I was having enough trouble getting up and down as it was, at just five months. Eight, nine months… I wouldn't have been able to move." Waving a hand, she dismissed the checkers game, too distracted to continue playing. Then, pausing again, she considered her words for a moment, before letting out a soft scoff, her brow furrowing in incredulity as she stared at a spot near her arm on the table. "Some war hero, blown up like a goddamn balloon," she said, reaching forward to pick absentmindedly at the spot, only to realize it was a dent and give up the effort. "How do people do that without losing their minds from embarrassment? You look like you're carrying a, a… small escape pod on your front, and there's no way to flatter it. It's… hopeless. Awful." Shaking her head, she looked back down again, moving her feet absentmindedly apart and together, unable to help but wonder what it would have been like to look down and not be able to see them. "I'm glad she's in the tank," she finally said, quieter, causing Miranda to look up at her again, concerned. "It's safer for her in there. She has a better chance of survival with you looking after her than she ever had with me."

Miranda seemed surprised at this, and for a moment she did not seem to know what to say in return. "That's not true," she finally told her, her voice surprisingly firm, causing Shepard to look up at her in surprise. "You shouldn't sell yourself short like that, Shepard. For all you know, you were born to be a mother. You never know until you try. That's what I've always been told." Then, looking down at her datapad again, she tucked a frazzled lock of dark hair behind her ear, not meeting Shepard's gaze as she tried hard to remember what she came down to tell her in the first place. "Oh!" she finally said, looking up again, eagerly. "I got the most recent report on your baby's stem cell reparation effort. I don't want to give you false hope just yet, but… it looks like our efforts are working." Shepard immediately perked up at the news, sitting up straighter in her rec room chair as she held out a hand for the datapad, but Miranda quickly pulled it back again, not wanting to let her see it just yet. "Now, it's not a sure thing yet," she told her, warningly, causing Shepard to quickly retract her arm again, frowning, confused. "It's still more or less up in the air at this point. The baby is _technically_ no longer braindead, but just because her brain has _theoretical_ functionality doesn't mean it necessarily works to send signals to the rest of her body's functions."

"How will we know if she's actually braindead or not?" Shepard asked, still uncertain if she should be elated or upset at the news she was receiving. It was often difficult to tell with Miranda, who had a bad habit of making bad things sound hopeful, and good things oddly daunting.

Miranda paused, tapping her datapad against her palm, trying to figure out how best to explain it, before finally raising her sculpted brows with a soft, conceding sigh. "There's no way to know for sure until she's born," she finally admitted. "We'll just have to wait and see if she cries. If she cries when she's born, then she's back to full theoretical brain functionality."

"And if she doesn't?" Shepard asked, dreading the answer.

Miranda frowned, her plush lips pursing, looking as if she had hoped she might not have to talk about the other possibility. "Then… she'll have been born anencephalic," she answered, honestly. "Or the equivalent thereof. Not technically dead, but… unlikely to live more than a few hours to a few days after birth, and never with any sensationalism of personhood. In that situation… it would probably be kindest to euthanize her immediately after birth."

Shepard's frown instantly lifted at this, replaced instead by a look of alarm. "What are the chances of that happening?" she asked.

"At this point?" Miranda returned, frankly. She paused, doing some quick calculations in her head, before frowning again, turning her attention back to Shepard once more. "Fifty-fifty," she answered, forwardly. "Which is much better than our chances going in. At the start of the stem cell therapy, she only had a twelve percent chance of survival. Now her chances are significantly better."

"But still not absolute," Shepard added, bluntly.

"Nothing is absolute with science, Shepard," Miranda told her, letting out a soft, frustrated sigh. "It's just a hard truth we have to learn to live with. We're doing the best we can, but… sometimes our best just isn't enough."

"So there's nothing else we can do?" Shepard asked, agitated, tapping her index finger distractedly against the metal surface of the table. "No additional measures we can take to up her chances any more than they already are?"

"We've done everything we can at this point," Miranda answered, letting out another soft sigh, this one more apologetic than the last. Shrugging her thin shoulders, she let her datapad settle into her lap, crossing her hands pensively over the screen. "I'll see what I can do about regulating her stem cell therapy until it's time to initiate the birthing sequence," she told Shepard, causing her to look up at the news, unconvinced. "If I can isolate a pattern of administration that allows for the highest feedback in the production of new brain activity, I'll continue on that pattern in the hopes of a significant improvement in that time. That's the best I can offer right now, as far as your baby is concerned. Anything more propitious than that is… highly unlikely, medically speaking."

Shepard paused, considering this offer, her hand coming to a standstill against the desk as she stared at Miranda for another moment longer, trying to read her expression but finding nothing but sincerity in her face. Then, pulling her hand back again, she tucked it into the pocket of her hoodie, offering Miranda a weary, thankful half-smile. "Thanks, Miranda," she told her, offering her a grateful nod. "You're a good friend."

"And all it took was me breaking the laws of medical science a little to do it," Miranda returned, half-jokingly, offering Shepard an appreciative little smile in return. "Piece of cake, really, when you think about it. I'm just glad I could help."

* * *

The digital clock on the wall of the crew quarters read that it was nearly 9pm, but, despite the time, Shepard had never felt more awake in her life. She had no idea what Earth-relevant timezone the clock had been set to, but even so, she had been trying to keep a semi-regular schedule while on board the station so that she might be able to sleep and wake during regular hours on her return home – if she ever returned home. This evening, however, Miranda's prediction about her daughter's chances of survival was making it difficult to close her eyes, and as the minutes on the clock ticked by, she stared blankly at the ceiling of the room, her fingers running absentmindedly along the thin, barely-visible scar left behind by her hysterectomy. It was a difficult thing to think about – the feeling of isolation, of futility, the idea that everything she had done and sacrificed up to that point might not matter in the end. She had tried hard over the past few weeks to convince herself that no matter the outcome, it was worth every effort she had put into trying, but the closer it came to the actual conclusion, the less certain she found herself feeling about every miniscule decision she had made along the way.

Just then, the vidcomm screen at the far end of the crew quarters began to ding softly, the screen lighting up blue to inform her that an outside message was attempting to come through. Shepard frowned, surprised at the interruption, trying to remember if she had requested for anyone to call her, before sliding her legs out of bed, not even bothering to put on her shoes as she crossed the quarters to the vidcomm station. Dropping herself down into the chair, she reached forward, pressing the flashing incoming message button, before leaning back in her chair again, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully as she tried to figure out who might be calling. She had heard from Liara only a few days earlier, which usually meant it would be at least another couple days before she called back again for another update. She liked keeping Shepard up to date, but with the galaxy in such disarray, her schedule was often full to the brim, making it hard for her to find time to call more than once every week or so. The blue loading symbol spun lazily as she waited, buffering the incoming message signal, before suddenly, the screen flashed to an image, and Shepard found herself looking at a familiar face she had not expected.

"Garrus," Shepard greeted him, trying hard not to sound as surprised as she felt. "I… didn't expect to hear back from you. Did you get my correspondence request?"

"Sidonis told me you were trying to get in contact with me, if that's what you're talking about," Garrus answered, shortly, shifting to try to get a bit more comfortably in his seat. "I was a little surprised when the appeal came through, to be honest. I thought I made it clear that 'family' included my old crew. I guess they didn't get that memo up at communications." Letting out a short, thwarted sigh, he shifted his broad shoulders, seeming to accept that he was not going to get entirely settled in his chair, before looking up at her again, frankly. "I wasn't ignoring you, Shepard," he told her, honestly, shaking his head. "I've just been really busy lately. The rebuild effort is… progressing, but… slowly." Pausing then, he tilted his head forward a bit, his mandibles giving a quick, anxious tic as he stared at her, preparing to go on. "Plus, I… kind of figured you were upset with me when you didn't respond to my e-mails," he added, thoughtfully. "Not that I blame you. I was… not as kind as I could have been on our last vid conversation."

Shepard faltered at this, taken aback, her hands curling almost subconsciously in front of her as she stared at him, unsure what to say. In truth, she had thought his short, business-like e-mails to have been a dismissal of her, and that he had been the one who had not wanted to converse, but now she found herself wondering worriedly if perhaps she had merely projected her own feelings of inaccessibility unfairly on his words. "It's okay, Garrus," she told him, speaking before she could stop herself. "I… think we're both kind of to blame for that. It was insensitive of me to drop everything on you like that. I should have prepared better."

Garrus save a soft, humourless chuckle at this, looking down towards his hands on the desk as he gave a short grunt of consideration. "Yes, well," he said, giving a soft sigh. "There's really no way to prepare for something like that. You did the best with what you had. I should have been more understanding." Taking another deep breath in, he paused, staring absentmindedly at his hand on his desk, before frowning a bit, his plated brow furrowing as he let out his breath in a long, pensive exhale. Then, seeming to remember something, he looked up at Shepard again, his mandibles giving a few quick, excited, circular tics against his chin as his blue eyes widened eagerly. "Oh," he said, enthusiastically. "I almost forgot. While we were breaking new ground for architectural purposes, we came across a major silver vein. Palaven has been a producer of silver for years, but the mines we had previously set up were almost stripped dry during the War effort, so this discovery is… great, for what it's worth." Looking back down towards his desk again, he gave another quick, excited huff, his mandibles starting to tic faster in anticipation. "Part of our rebuild effort has now been converted into a mining operation," he went on, pragmatically. "It's… not what I'm used to. The value of precious metals has dropped significantly since the end of the War… but, we're still making a small dent in the deficit. Slowly but surely."

"You'd think jewellery wouldn't be that popular after the War," Shepard commented, frowning a bit, intrigued. "It's surprising a precious metal vein would be much help in times like these. People must have more important things to spend their money on, like… food. Shelter."

"They do," Garrus agreed, looking up at her again. "And, it's not. Jewellery, that is. Popular. Only a small fraction of the silver we mine actually goes into the jewellery trade, and that's usually only for people who are buying up all the precious metal they can to save until after the depression blows over." He paused then, considering this for a moment, before taking a deep, contemplative breath in, his plated brow furrowing in thought. "It's not a bad idea," he added, thoughtfully. "Hunkering down for the long run. If any of us had extra credits to spare to take a risk on things like that, it wouldn't be a bad plan of action." He hesitated, thinking about this, before letting out a soft scoff, shaking his head. "I mean, I've always been something of a risk taker," he admitted. "But… never that great with money, unfortunately. I figure it's better to take my chances with hard labour than try my luck with gaming the economy." Looking up at her again, he faltered, considering this, before taking in another short, sharp breath, preparing to move onward.

"Either way, that's just a small fraction of where the silver goes," Garrus explained, matter-of-factly. "The rest goes into more practical things like… dental alloys, soldering and brazing, electrical contacts… batteries… that sort of thing. There's also a surprising amount of demand for sun-sensitive glass for personal shuttlecars." Pausing then, he frowned a bit, his mandibles giving a broad, contemplative dip as he tapped one finger thoughtfully against the line of his desk. "We've also discovered a large market within the quarian and volus communities for silver nanoparticles," he added, interestedly, causing Shepard to look up again. "Apparently they prevent sweat from forming bacterial residue and odours in their exosuits. I had no idea." Pausing again, he hesitated, before looking down towards his desk once more and letting out a soft, half-embarrassed little chuckle. "Then again, turians don't sweat like other races," he added. "So it probably makes sense that I wouldn't know. One thing I can be grateful for for being turian, I guess."

"Among several," Shepard added, playfully.

Garrus chuckled softly at this, dropping his gaze momentarily, before looking back up at her again, the same affection she had grown so used to seeing in them peeking through, just visible through the vidscreen. "Hm," he grunted, good-naturedly. "Yes, well. I suppose I do have a few… other, benefits as well. At least I don't have to worry about getting hit in the groin, unlike your… soft and supple species."

"You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl," Shepard joked back, unable to keep a fond, longing smile from creeping across her face.

Garrus chuckled again at this banter, his smile seeming oddly sad, almost forced, as if he wanted to say something important but could not convince himself to do so. Clearing his throat again, he looked down, his mandibles giving a broad dip as he did so, before taking a deep breath and looking up at her again, forcibly casual this time. "Have you… heard from Earth?" he asked, hopefully, changing the subject again, causing Shepard to have to hold back a look of disappointment. "Anything from the rest of the crew?"

Shepard hesitated, staring at him for a moment, wondering if there was anything she could say to get him to tell her what he had been thinking only moments earlier. Then, letting out a soft breath of her own, she leaned forward towards the desk, folding her hands contemplatively in front of her as she thought back to the last report she had received. "Liara has been giving me updates," she finally answered, frankly. "She says the crew are doing well. They've managed to locate everyone except Thane and Zaeed. Even Kasumi."

"That's good," Garrus answered, conversationally, giving a short, confirming nod. "And how is Anderson doing? Better? Last I heard he was in some sort of coma. Hopefully he's gotten out of that by now."

At this, Shepard instantly perked up, her posture straightening as a delighted smile spread across her face. "He came out of it just last week," she told him, elated at the news. "They had to go into operation when a massive clot formed in one of his legs… they had to amputate it just below the knee, but that seemed to clear up most of his other bloodflow issues. He's still in the hospital, but they're talking about sending him into physical therapy soon." Her smile widening, she shifted happily in her chair, crossing her ankles as she leaned in even closer to the vidscreen, enthusiastic. "He and Kahlee Sanders were going to get married in the hospital when he woke up," she told him, going onward. "But he said he wanted to learn to walk on his prosthetic first, so he could stand at the end of the aisle for her—" Stopping then, she faltered a bit, her enthusiastic voice trailing off as she stared at him, the smile slowly starting to fade from her face at the mention of matrimony. She wanted so badly to ask him his thoughts, his feelings, his plans on whether he still wanted to go through with the marriage they had talked about so enthusiastically before the final battle on Earth, but she knew that now was probably the worst possible time to do it, while he was still hurting from the details of their last conversation.

Garrus seemed to notice the shift in conversation, as he quickly brought a hand up, clearing his throat, before taking a deep breath, preparing to change the subject once more. "So," he told her, his speech rocky as he tried to navigate the touchy topic. "It must be almost time for you to… have your baby. It's been almost… eight months now, I think. Should be sometime soon."

"Just about," Shepard agreed, shortly, not bothering to correct him on the proverbial timeline.

Garrus grunted, following along, his mandibles giving a wary twitch as he tried to keep his gaze from flicking away from her prematurely. "Have you told Vega yet?" he finally asked, politely interested, though Shepard could tell it pained him to ask. "That he's, that… you're… going to be parents?"

"No," Shepard answered, honestly, shaking her head. "I haven't told Vega anything. It's not his baby, Garrus. It's yours. I told you that already."

Garrus sighed at this, trying hard to be patient, his gaze dropping momentarily from her face before looking back up again, determinedly. "It's a nice thought," he told her, softly. "But, unfortunately, I don't know that it will work. I don't know where we stand now, Shepard. I would have been happy to adopt your child with you if you had only told me a little sooner, but right now is… a really bad time for me. And not a great time for us." Frowning then, he stared at her, tapping his thumb absentmindedly against the line of his desk as he tried to decide what was left to say, if there was any way to bring the conversation back to where it had been before. She knew he hated leaving things on a bad note – that was his way, always trying to make things better – but he seemed to be having a hard time finding something positive to say about the situation. "Either way, whoever's baby it really is is sure to be proud," he finally told her, surprising her a bit. "Even if they don't get to actively be its father. Anybody would be proud to have a baby with Commander Shepard."

Shepard frowned at this sentiment, unable to help but feel a bit wounded by his stolid refusal to accept the truth, no matter how many times she told him. She realized it had to be hard to swallow, as she still was not entirely privy to the details of how it happened, herself, but the fact that he seemed determined not to listen to her was still somewhat disconcerting. It was not the first time something impossible had happened within their ship community, but she had to admit that it was likely the first thing of this scale, and so, letting out a sigh, she shook her head, deciding to drop the issue for now, before leaning forward a bit in her chair towards the vidscreen, getting his full attention. "Please don't be so impersonal," she pleaded, quietly. "I don't want this to be the end for us."

Garrus sighed again at this, folding his hands in front of him on his desk and looking down at them, determined, unable to meet her eye for the first time. "I just… don't know where we can go from here," he admitted, shaking his head, sadly. "What kind of relationship could we have if I can't trust you? We were supposed to tell each other everything. This is…" Taking another deep breath in, he looked up at her again, solemn, his mandibles giving anxious, thin twitches at his chin as he frowned. "This is a big thing, not to tell someone, Shepard," he told her. "A baby isn't a small detail. I'm not sure I could ever trust you again after something like this."

Shepard faltered, taken aback for a moment by this stark, painful truth, before finally letting out a huff of breath, trying to keep her unwavering composure as she stared at a point somewhere just below the frame of the vidscreen. "I know," she admitted, shaking her head. "I'm not asking you to trust me. I don't deserve that. I'm sorry, Garrus. It was all my fault. I was selfish, and… I wasn't thinking." Looking up at him again, she frowned, her fingers curling anxiously around the edges of her armrests as she felt her body stiffen around her in dissent at her own inadequacy. "I was an idiot, Garrus," she told him, frankly. "Hate me for that. But don't think I didn't care about you this whole time. I didn't tell you _because_ I cared about you. I cared about what you would think of me. I even…" She stopped, trailing off, her mouth drawing into a hard line, before letting out a soft, conceding sigh. "I even thought about getting an abortion," she admitted, quieter this time. "Just so I wouldn't have to deal with telling you. I didn't know how you felt about me at the time, and I… didn't want to risk what we had on something I wasn't even sure about. I wasn't ready to be a mother on my own, and… honestly… I wanted you more than I wanted that baby. But then something changed, and I guess… I thought…"

Letting out another sigh, deeper this time, Shepard leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, frowning. "I thought, why can't we have both?" she asked, trying hard not to make a guilty face at his unmoving expression. He was working so hard not to react, not to give any indicator of how he felt, but his efforts not to judge her as she spoke were only making her feel worse. "You seemed amenable to the idea of a baby," she added, hopefully. "It was just a matter of asking you if you would be open to it being… _this_ baby. But… I didn't know how to ask you that, and… I didn't want to scare you off. I wanted us, but I also wanted… _us_. All three of us. Together." Frowning again, she looked down towards her feet, unable to meet his earnest gaze any longer. "I didn't know how to tell you," she told him, quieter, honestly. "I… I didn't know how you were going to react. You loved me for who you knew me to be, this… fun, daring, singular person, and I… didn't know how to tell you that I… wasn't that person anymore. What you loved wasn't what you would have been getting, and I…" She paused again, staring at her feet, considering whether it was worth going on, before finally looking up at him again, taking a deep breath in, steeling her expression.

"I didn't want to lie to you," she told him, honestly, trying hard not to scoff at herself at the bitter irony. "I'm not that person, Garrus. That person you loved. I'm… different. I'm… tired. I'm just… so… tired. And that's not what you wanted. That's not who you needed me to be." Taking another deep breath in, she bit her lip, feeling her stomach twist with anxiety as she held it, before finally letting it out again in a soft, bitter exhale. "So I just… pretended that was who I was," she added, quieter. "For as long as I could. Until it caught up with me and I couldn't hide it anymore." Having finished what she wanted to say, she stared at him for another moment longer, the unbearable silence falling, stiff and unfriendly, over the conversation as she waited for some sort of reaction, anything to let her know that he was still listening, that he still cared about anything she had to say. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, Garrus took a deep breath in, his hand curling absentmindedly at the edge of his desk as he stared at her, preparing to respond.

"You're wrong, Shepard," Garrus told her, frankly, causing her to look up in surprise, her brow furrowing faintly at the unexpected response. "I never needed you to _be_ anyone. I'm not a lost soul looking for some sort of poetic redemption. You think I want a hero? I want an _equal_. A partner, a… a _friend_." Pausing again, his plated frown deepened, his hand starting to shake ever so slightly at the edge of his desk as he took another deep breath, preparing to go on. "I want someone I can _trust_ ," he told her, causing her to look down at the word, ashamed. "Someone I can come home to at the end of the day when I'm worn out and tired. Someone who will love me for my aching back and feet. Someone who can't cook, and can't dance, and… has no idea how to act in a formal conversation. Someone _human_ , in every… metaphorical sense of the word." He stopped again, choking on his words, causing Shepard to look up at him again, expectant, hanging onto his every word, needing to know what came next.

"I know you better than anyone, Shepard," he finally told her, working hard to keep his voice from shaking as he spoke. "I've seen you fall, I know you've got weaknesses just like everyone else. _That's_ what I was looking for. I'm just a guy, and I wanted someone just… to _be_ with. To be myself with." Taking another long, shuddering breath, he swallowed hard, looking down for the first time, staring intently at his shaking fist on the edge of the table. "I wanted you for _you_ ," he told her, quieter this time, as sincere as she had ever heard him. "That's all I've ever wanted. You. With all your faults and slip-ups along the way." Another painful, lengthy silence fell over the conversation at this, and for a long moment neither one of them said anything, Shepard staring at Garrus, unable to speak, watching as he kept his gaze fixed intently on his desk, not wanting to let her see him showing any sign of weakness. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Garrus finally lifted his head again, staring at Shepard through the screen, his expression solemn, forcibly blank.

"Let me know after the baby's been born," he told her, still speaking quietly, as if afraid speaking any louder might cause his voice to waver again. "I'll… try to take some leave to come and visit. If I can't, then… call me. Let me know what's going on. I want to be there for the two of you, Shepard, even if…" He faltered, trailing off, his gaze drifting faintly to one side as he paused, before letting out a soft, almost pained-sounding breath. "Even if it doesn't work out for us," he said, quieter this time, returning his attention to her once more.

Shepard faltered, touched by his words, too taken aback by his sincerity to respond right away. Then, clearing her throat gently, she nodded, dropping her gaze to her desk again, her hand fidgeting anxiously in front of her as she wet her lips, trying to think how to respond, working hard to keep herself from choking up as well. "Thanks, Garrus," she finally told him, quietly, her gaze flicking to his face momentarily before dropping again. "You're a… really good guy." Pausing then, she frowned faintly, her fingers starting to drum absentmindedly against the line of her desk as she thought, sucking in anxiously on her lower lip as she tried to decide whether or not to ask what she was thinking. Then, taking a deep breath in, she looked up at him again, narrowing her eyes a bit as she stared at him, hopefully. "Garrus," she said, speaking slowly, going over every word carefully as she said it, making sure was saying exactly what she wanted to say. "Do you think, maybe… possibly… there might be a chance… we can try again after the baby is born?"

Garrus paused, seeming surprised by this question at first. Then, his plated brow furrowing a bit, he tilted his head, his mandibles giving a few quick, rhythmic tics, before looking up at Shepard again and giving a short, thoughtful nod. "Sure, Shepard," he told her, fairly. "I don't see why not. We'll… start over fresh. From the beginning. Get to know one another again. If it works, it works, and if it doesn't…" Trailing off, he considered a moment, before letting out another pensive grunt. "Well," he said. "We'll always have the memories. And at least we'll still be friends. That counts for something." Having said this, he stopped again, looking up at her, thoughtfully, before a soft, fond smile began to curl his tapered mouth gently upward. "It'll be just like old times," he told her, teasingly. "You, me, a bottle of wine… and some bad techno music to lighten the mood."

"Maybe not the music," Shepard answered, giving a soft laugh, unable to help herself. "Don't want to wake the baby, after all."

"Right, right," Garrus agreed, his puckish, toothy smile widening. "The baby. Hm. Well. If it's anything like you, it'll probably be a heavy sleeper. Maybe a bit of a drooler, too."

"I do not drool," Shepard returned, good-naturedly affronted.

Garrus laughed again at this, raising his hands, playfully apologetic. "My mistake," he told her, chuckling. "You know me. Can't tell one human body function from another." Letting his hands drop down again, he paused, watching her, fondly, before letting out a soft, almost longing sigh, his posture relaxing for what felt like the first time since the start of the call. "I do miss you, Shepard," he told her, honestly. "And… you know, when they told me you were pregnant at the hospital, I… I-I know it's silly, but I… couldn't help thinking, for a split second, that maybe, hopefully… it might be mine." Having said this, he paused a moment, his mandibles trembling, his blue eyes wide, but he barely let a hot, pin-drop second pass before he quickly spoke up again, raising his hands, barrelling over any potential response of incredulity. "I know that's… ridiculous," he added, quickly, shaking his head. "We could never work that way. I know that. I know. You said so yourself, but… it's nice to think about, either way. A baby, made from just the two of us." Letting out another soft sigh, he let his hands drop back to his desk, his fingers taut, itching eagerly, as if sitting still physically pained him.

"Do you… ever think about that sometimes?" he finally asked, his voice tentative, as if almost afraid to even bring it up again. "The idea of the two of us… having a baby. I know you joked about it at the party, but…" Pausing again, he fidgeted, his posture stiff, his mandibles giving short, anxious twitches against his chin as he watched her, waiting for some sort of response. Then, letting out another sigh, deeper this time, he sank back in his chair again, his broad shoulders going slack, his hands sliding to the edge of his desk as he dropped his gaze to the holo-keypad. "I'm sorry," he told her, apologetically. "There you are, about to have a real baby, probably worried sick, and here I am… talking about something ridiculous."

"Not that ridiculous," Shepard answered, trying hard not to make a face.

Garrus paused, watching her for a hesitant moment, trying to figure out if she were making fun of him or not. Then, realizing she was being sincere, he lifted his chin, smiling again, his sheepish expression giving way to puckishness once more. "Well then," he told her, his voice a quiet, endearing drawl. "What do you say, after you have this baby, you and I… we try to make one of our own? I figure, even if nothing comes of it… we can't really complain about trying." Shrugging then, he traced his finger across the desk, letting her fill in the possibilities for herself, before retrieving his hand, returning it to his lap, and letting out a soft, tired sigh. "I miss talking to you, Shepard," he told her, more seriously now. "I miss just… conversing. Asking you about your day, and you asking about mine. Small talk, without it having to be about anything major or… groundbreaking. You know."

"I know," Shepard agreed. "I miss it, too."

Garrus hesitated, watching her, waiting, as if expecting her to say something more. Then, letting his gaze drop again, he cleared his throat, gently, reaching out to inspect the small dent in the desk he had been playing with the first time she had talked to him. "I should… probably get back to work," he finally told her, looking up at her again, his expression reluctant, as if he had secretly wished the conversation could go on forever. "Palaven isn't going to rebuild itself. I'll… talk to you later, Shepard."

Shepard nodded, sucking in on her lips as she leaned back in her chair again, tucking her hands into her hoodie pockets, equally reluctant to let the vidcomm call conclude. This conversation had lasted much longer than she had anticipated, but she still had no idea when she would get to talk to him again, or if he would even call back. He seemed much more willing to communicate with her this time, but the nearly twelve-week stretch with barely any communication still weighed heavily on her mind, and she took a deep breath in, forcing herself not to grasp blindly for more topics just to keep him on the line as she offered him a wan, amicable smile in return. "You, too, Garrus," she told him. "Take care." Then, reaching forward towards the vidscreen, she pressed the button on the side, severing the comm connection, returning the screen once more to lonely, finalistic black.

* * *

An alarm blaring from somewhere within Minuteman Station woke Shepard instantly from her sleep, causing her to shoot up straight in bed, reaching for her gun on her nightstand, only to find it missing. For an instant, she froze, her senses white-hot with dread, trying to figure out who could have taken her weapon, until she suddenly remembered where she was and retrieved her hand, clenching it to her chest. It did not take long for dread to quickly give way to sickening panic, however, and she hastily threw the covers off herself, leaping out of bed, not even bothering to put on her shoes as she ran towards the source of the shrieking alarm. Making her way to the central elevator, she slammed the button over and over, waiting for the elevator to arrive on her floor, before deciding the elevator was taking too long and turning to instead make her way for the stairs. Tearing down the steps two at a time, she finally reached the laboratory floor, and she quickly began to sprint down the hallway towards the ear-splitting sound, looking for the source of the alarm.

It did not take her long to find the origin of the chaos – it seemed that, sometime during the night, her baby's gestation tank had seemingly come alive, the usually gentle beeping of the heart monitor shrieking as the fluid inside bubbled and frothed like a simmering cauldron. An alarm blared loudly from somewhere inside the lab, alerting anyone who would listen to the situation, and Shepard covered her ears against the sound as she made her way up the stairs towards the gestation platform, only to find Miranda already standing over the tank, still in her nightgown, one hand curled against her chest as she typed frantically into a screen near the tank with the other. The hand she held against her was bright red, with a thick, black and purple mark across the back of it, just above the line of her knuckles, and as Shepard got closer, she could see the definitive outline of a latch starting to form as a large, raised welt near the badly-bruised line. "What happened, Miranda?" Shepard demanded, causing Miranda to glance back at her momentarily before returning her attention to the tank. "What's going on?! Talk to me!"

"The tank," Miranda exclaimed, gasping, out of breath, lifting her good wrist to her face to wipe her streaming eyes. "The tank, the monitor, it-it… it informed me during the night that gestation had reached its finished stage, but when I tried to initiate the birthing sequence, I…" Shaking her head, she pressed her hand to her frazzled hair, starting to breathe even faster as she stared in helpless horror at the frothing, screaming tank. "I don't know, Shepard," she told her, frantically. "Something went wrong. I don't… I don't know how, but somehow an airborne bacterium got into the tank during the birthing sequence, and the tank, it— it immediately sealed itself again to purge it. It broke my hand when it closed itself, and I… I don't know how to stop it now—"

"What?!" Shepard shouted, screaming to be heard over the roar of the tank, causing Miranda to look up at her again, her reddened eyes wide, startled. "What do you mean it's purging itself?! Stop it, Miranda – you have to stop it!"

"I'm _trying_ to stop it!" Miranda shouted back, her voice breaking with anxiety. "I'm… I'm trying to override it so it doesn't hurt the baby! But it's… it's cleansing the tank, it's purging the birthing chamber, terminating anything even remotely unhygienic…!" Turning her attention back to the override screen, she put in another set of numbers, her good hand shaking so hard she could barely hold it steady enough to type, and she swore quietly as she missed a number, causing the override screen to flash red. Miranda gritted her teeth in desperation as another wave of frantic tears streamed down her anxious face, and the tank whirred even louder at the blunder, starting to rock violently on its metal feet.

"This is taking too long!" Shepard shouted, causing Miranda to take a step back, alarmed. Stepping forward towards the cistern, Shepard shoved Miranda unceremoniously out of the way, placing her hands on the bar spanning the top as she tried to think of a possible solution Miranda had not. Then, taking firm hold of one of the hefty metal clamps securing the tank to the floor of the laboratory, she braced her bare feet against the cold flooring, beginning to pull with all her might, figuring that if she could just cut it off from its power source, that might stop the panic command, which would stop the tank from purging itself and killing her baby in the process. Her hands glowed white-blue with biotic energy as the sound of the siren blared in her ears, her arms straining against the heavy soldering as she sought to pull the tank up from the floor by its roots. Then, with a shrieking, shuddering jolt, the tank began to slowly move, dragging up out of the sleek metal floor of the laboratory with a loud, crackling shrieking of metal and wires. The alarm blared even louder in response, and Shepard's hands glowed even brighter as she took a step back from the tank, pulling it up as she went. The tank gave another sharp jolt, ripping up from the floor of the lab, sparks flying from the clamps as they strained against the sides of the tank. Then, finally, with one last, satisfying, ringing clatter, the tank came loose from the clamps that held it, giving a low, reverberating _clang_ as it dropped down against the floor of the lab, no longer connected to anything solid.

The empty clamps where the tank had stood keened, red-hot, as smoke drifted up in confused tendrils out of the wires left stripped and broken in its wake, and Shepard finally allowed herself to let go of the tank, her hands still burning, reddened and numb, as she turned from the tank back to Miranda. Miranda stared at her with wide, amazed eyes, her hand still curled protectively at her chest, her mouth hanging open in shock, barely bothering to contain her amazement at the sight of the disconnected tank. The walls still rang with the fading echoes of the alarm as Miranda made her way over to the tank, checking the two attached reservoirs to make sure neither had been seriously harmed. Then, turning her attention up towards Shepard again, she let out a sharp, relieved huff of breath, stepping over the smouldering ruin of where the cistern had been to take hold of one of her friend's hands, turning it over, inspecting the damage done. "We have to move the tank again," Miranda told her, quietly, seeming hesitant to even mention it but for the gravity of the situation. "Without a source of power to drive it, the filtration, steroid, and stem cell supplementation systems can't continue to run. We need those functions running as long as the baby is still in utero, and… I'm not sure how much longer it's going to stay that way. A bit, yet, as far as I can tell."

Shepard frowned at the unwelcome news, looking back towards the still-smoking tank, before letting out a soft sigh, reclaiming her hand, and making her way back over to the tank. Miranda followed along behind her, still holding her wounded hand to her chest, her sculpted brows furrowing in fervent thought as she stared down at the cistern still lying on the laboratory floor. "Can you use your biotics to move it?" Shepard asked, turning to glance back at Miranda. Then, looking down at Miranda's injured hand, she frowned, her brow furrowing in concern as she noticed the black and purple bruise had begun to spread outward from the point of impact. "Want me to bandage that up first?" she asked, nodding towards the broken appendage. Miranda paused, seeming surprised by the question, before shaking her head and raising her good hand, her palm starting to glow with electric blue light as an aura of biotic energy surrounded the tank. Moving over to the tank, Shepard put her hands under it, steadying the heavy cistern in midair as Miranda moved it precariously across the floor, taking care not to jostle the tank as they moved it from one end of the platform to the other, finally lowering it gently down in front of an open incubation station.

Unscrewing the broken remainders of the original plugs from the input valves of the tank, Shepard tossed them aside onto the laboratory floor, instead pulling a large, hose-like plug from the floor near where the tank now sat and plugging it into place on one side of the tank. Giving it an extra, tightening twist for good measure, she waited, making sure it took, before the sound of soft beeping began to reach her ears, followed by a gentle whirring sound as the heart monitor began to pump again. Taking a step back, Shepard frowned, disconcerted by the makeshift setup, before propping her hands on her hips as she watched Miranda come up to stand beside her, looking down at the tank as well. "The baby needs to stay in healthy suspension until we can figure out an alternative method of birthing," Miranda explained, staring down at the tank, her expression stern. "We can't risk the general extraction function again. It thinks the lab is too unsanitary. In order to make the lab sanitary enough, we'd need… weeks of purging, just to make sure, and even then there's no way to run a trial to see if it's clean enough to satisfy the filtration system."

Taking a deep breath in, Miranda turned to look up at Shepard again, her expression grave. "We can't risk this happening again, Shepard," she told her, causing Shepard to look over at her again, concerned. "This time was way too close. Another screw-up like that, and your baby will be dead. But…" Frowning deeper then, she pursed her lips, her shoulders seeming to stiffen a she let out a short, disconcerted huff of breath. "We can't take the time to purge the station," she said. "It will take too long. We just can't risk letting her stay in there that long."

"…What?" Shepard asked, her brow furrowing deeper in confusion. "Why not?"

"If the baby stays in there too long after the gestation period ends, it will be extremely harmful to her," Miranda explained, indicating towards the quietly-pumping gestation tank with her one good hand. "It's not the same as a normal womb. If it thinks there's a problem it… overcompensates. If the baby stays in there too long after its projected due date, the nutrients will eventually overwhelm it and its body will toxify. That could lead to liver problems, a breakdown of the skin, cirrhosis of the liver, hemochromatosis, diabetes mellitus… all on top of the existing conditions your baby is likely already going to have as a result of her genetic makeup." Looking down again, she shook her head, letting her hand drop back to her side as she let out another soft, solemn sigh. "I don't know what to do," she admitted. "I suppose we'll just have to play it by ear."

"Why not just pry it open now?" Shepard asked, indicating towards the tank, confused. "If she's ready to be born now, and leaving her in there will only hurt her—"

"Pry it open with what, exactly?" Miranda insisted, looking up again, now sounding annoyed. "My biotics? Would you have me just rip the tank in half? It's not a holiday popper, Shepard, you can't just… pull the end off and have at it." Letting out a soft scoff, she propped her good hand on her hip, turning to look back towards the tank with a stubborn, thwarted frown. "The tank has sealed itself tight for the purgative process," she explained, forwardly. "The only way we're getting in there is with an acetylene torch, and we don't have one of those here. Even if we did, would you really want to risk your baby's well-being on the off chance you could pry her out of there by force?" Letting out another sigh, this one deeper than the last, she shook her head again, looking down towards her feet, before turning away from the tank to start down the stairs, heading away from the gestation platform. "We need an override key, Shepard," she told her, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Shepard was following behind her. "And we need a sanitary lab station. I can get the key on my own, but I have no idea where we could find a lab clean enough to satisfy the decontamination sensor."

Shepard frowned, rubbing the pad of her thumb thoughtfully against the line of her cheek. Then, suddenly, she looked up again, her brows shooting eagerly upwards as she got an idea. "I think I know where we could find a clean room," she suggested, causing Miranda to look back at her again, seeming sceptical, though not surprised. "It might take some persuading, but I think I might be able to do it."

Miranda paused, her brow furrowing into an uncertain frown as she cradled her wounded hand next to her chest. "I suppose anything is better than nothing at this point," she finally said, letting out a soft, tired sigh of defeat. "Whatever you have in mind, go ahead and do it. In the meantime, I'll see what I can do about regulating the flow of nutrients and steroids. If we're lucky, I can make her last another week without any significant harm being done." Reaching the bottom step, she gave a soft hiss, flinching as her broken hand jostled against her abdomen. "Bloody hell," she swore, looking down towards her hand, seeming frustrated by her own human mortality. "I should probably attend to this first… shit. Shouldn't take too long to do, if I'm lucky. We can probably get it set in an hour or so… if you'd be willing to follow instructions for once." Shepard looked up at this seemingly hostile addendum, surprised, before seeing Miranda's expression slowly beginning to shift, her face twisting into a pained, wry smile as she watched Shepard for a reaction. Seeing this, Shepard quickly relaxed again, returning the tired smile, before moving over to help her out, holding her wounded arm steady as she walked.

"Just this once," Shepard told her, good-humouredly. "And just for you. Because you asked so nicely."

"Pushover," Miranda teased, smirking.


	41. FINAL DAY

It took Shepard only one call on the holocomm to get the attention of the quarian Fleet.

Though her presence was at first met with enthusiasm, the Admirals quickly became less enthused when she asked if they might be willing to spare her the use of one of their colony ships for a short period of time. The Fleet, it seemed, was in the middle of a rebuild effort, like everyone else after the War, and so the idea of parting with one of their ships when they were working so hard to regroup their assets seemed almost unspeakable, from what she could tell. "It's foolish," Admiral Koris had said. "Not to mention a waste of precious resources. The Fleet does not just _split up_ on request." The holocomm call had been disconnected not long after that, leaving Shepard to worry that she might have blown her only hope by being too vague about her intentions. She considered calling the Board back, determined to try her luck again, only to decide it was not worth it – there was no way to override the Board's decision, even if she had Tali on her side, and so, turning away from the holocomm, she had started to head up the stairs again, trying to figure out another way to gain access to a Clean Room.

Less than a week later, she found herself being sought out by the Minuteman Station's VI to inform her that an unfamiliar vessel of unidentified origin was requesting to dock with the station.

Miranda was already waiting at the docking lock when Shepard arrived, seeming anxious and alarmed by the new, unexpected arrival, her good hand propped against her hip as she paced back and forth in front of the airlock. "I should have masked our signal," she fretted, shaking her head and letting out a short, hard huff. "I should have known this would happen eventually. It's what always happens with these things. Scavengers see a station like this and they can't help themselves. Uncivilized brutes." Stopping momentarily in her pacing, she peered out the window overlooking the docking arm, frowning as she caught sight of the approaching ship again before turning away and beginning to pace once more. "Maybe if I put the station into lockdown now, they'll just go away," she figured, running a stressed hand back through her hair. Then, looking up at Shepard again, she stopped in her pacing, her agitated frown deepening. "Aren't you worried?" she asked, frustrated. "Or do you know something I don't know about this?"

Shepard hesitated, unsure how to answer, before moving over to the window to peer out at the waiting ship as well. There was nothing about it that marked it as quarian; if anything, it seemed to be a volus ship, a compact, portly-looking vessel with low-set wings and a ring of round, porthole-like windows that one would have to crouch to see through. "I think I know," she finally said, leaning back from the window again. "But I can't be sure unless they dock. If I'm right, this is what we've been hoping for."

"And if you're wrong?" Miranda asked, folding her arms, unconvinced.

"If I'm wrong, then we're dead," Shepard answered, straightforwardly. "If we die, you can blame me. How about that?"

Miranda's frown deepened at this sarcasm, unimpressed, before she finally let out a surrendering sigh, letting her hands drop back to her sides as she shrugged her shoulders, defeated. "Not exactly comforting," she conceded. "But it will have to do." Then, moving over to the docking panel, she put in a code, waiting for it to accept it with a flash of green, before taking a step back from the lock as it began to whir and crank noisily, preparing to allow the adjoining ship to sync up with the station.

The doors hissed loudly as the heavy lock released, a trickle of hydraulic steam passing through the cracks, before, moments later, the station doors opened to reveal a long, thin passageway. Two familiar figures stood at the end of the passage, and Shepard grinned as she recognized the newcomers, taking a few steps forward to meet them as they began to make their way onto the station. Reegar walked behind Tali in step, offering Shepard a respectful salute as soon as he caught sight of her, only allowing himself to relax once she had returned it and nodded her thanks. Coming to stand in front of Shepard, Tali gave her a quick once-over, before reaching out to pull her in in a tight, unapologetic hug. "I missed you so much," Tali told her, gleefully, before letting go of her to examine her again. "I almost couldn't believe it when you called the Fleet to ask for help. I hadn't heard anything from you since Earth… I thought maybe something terrible had happened after the attack on London." Pausing then, she reached up to Shepard's face, brushing her overgrown bangs from her eyes before letting her hand fall back to her side again. "You look like you haven't been sleeping," she told her. "But tired is better than dead, I guess."

"Just a little," Shepard conceded, giving a soft, weary laugh of her own. Then, pulling Tali into another hug, she held onto her tightly for a moment, barely wanting to let go of her friend, as if afraid she might never see her again. "I didn't think you would be coming," she admitted, finally allowing the hug to lapse. "This is a huge surprise. How did you convince the Admiralty Board to let you take the ship?"

Tali hesitated at the question, seeming unsure how to answer at first, before finally taking a little breath in and letting it out with a soft clearing of her throat. "It… wasn't easy," she answered, honestly, causing Shepard to frown a bit, concerned. "They generally would not have allowed us to take a ship like this out of the Fleet formation. Rebuild efforts and all that… you know." Pausing again, she took another quick, antsy breath, her helmeted gaze dropping to Shepard's shoulder. "In fact… they didn't let us take this one," she admitted. "We staged a ship-wide breech to clear it, and then we… kind of… hijacked it. We figured… it was worth whatever penalty they decided to give us. We needed to help you, and if they weren't going to let us, then we were going to do it for ourselves."

"You stole a ship?" Shepard hissed, alarmed, taking hold of Tali's shoulders and causing her to look up into her face again. "Tali, you're an Admiral! You could get in real trouble for this—"

"I know," Tali answered, quickly, holding up her hands. "But it was for a good cause. The Board will understand. And… if they don't, you'll just have to do them a big favour to make up for it."

"A favour?" Shepard asked, half-incredulous, the anxiety still apparent in her voice. "Killing that Reaper on Rannoch wasn't enough of a favour already?"

At this, Tali shrugged, giving a soft, uneasy chuckle, before letting her hands fall back down again. "Just one little Reaper?" she asked, teasingly. "Shepard. You should know better than that. The Admiralty Board is never satisfied with just one."

Letting out a heavy sigh, Shepard dropped her hands from Tali's shoulders, running a hand back through her shaggy hair before letting it rest at the back of her head. "This is a big risk, Tali," she told her. "You could get in serious trouble for this. You've already been almost exiled once—"

"But we couldn't just leave you in your time of need, Shepard," Tali argued, cutting her off, quickly. "I don't know what you need a Clean Room for, but it doesn't matter. You're our friend, and that's important. The Board was thinking about our people, but… we needed to help you. So we did what we had to do." Shrugging then, she crossed her arms, cupping each elbow in the opposite palm. "Besides," she added, matter-of-factly. "The Board should have seen this coming. We Zorahs have never been very good at following rules."

"And that's the ship you came on?" Miranda asked, frowning as she looked out on the vessel, causing both Tali and Reegar to look over at her, surprised at the interruption. "Isn't that craft a bit small, you think?

"Small for what?" Tali asked, taken aback. "Shepard said she needed a Clean Room. Who cares what size the ship is?" Letting out a soft, affronted breath then, she turned, glancing back towards the ship she had come on, before propping her hands stubbornly on her hips and returning her attention to Shepard and Miranda. "It _is_ a small ship," she conceded, cooperatively. "In fact, it's the smallest ship in the Fleet still deemed an acceptable size to house a Clean Room. But we figured that wouldn't matter, considering that's the important part." Then, turning her attention to Shepard, she raised her helmeted chin, curious. "So, Shepard," she said. "Now that we're here, what do you need the Clean Room for?"

"I need it for a birth," Shepard answered, frankly. There was no use hiding anything from Tali anymore – if she wanted her help, she would have to be as straightforward as possible about her situation.

Tali faltered at this explanation, her glowing eyes narrowing a bit in a frown as looked curiously between Miranda and Shepard, her fingers drumming thoughtfully against her hip as she considered asking the obvious question. "Which one of you is pregnant?" she finally asked, causing Miranda to give a soft scoff in return.

"Me," Shepard answered, unconcerned.

Tali seemed surprised at this, giving her another quick once-over. "Well, Shepard, you look incredible," she told her. "Must be a human thing."

Shepard faltered, taken aback, before quickly raising her hands again and shaking her head. "No, Tali, it—the baby is in a gestation tank," she explained, quickly. "Like a clone, except… not exactly."

"That makes more sense," Tali conceded, nodding. "And that makes things a bit easier as well. Tank births are simpler than natural births."

"You've had a tank birth on your ship before?" Shepard asked.

"Not personally," Tali answered, fairly, the puckish smile evident in her voice. "But it's not unheard of. We're scientists, you know."

Shepard smirked, grateful for her friend, before looking up again to watch as Reegar came to stand behind Tali, tucking his hands dutifully behind his back as he waited for the women to finish speaking. Noting the lapse in the conversation, he cleared his throat gently, preparing to speak, before offering Shepard a respectful little nod of salutation. "The Clean Room is almost ready, Ma'am," Reegar reported, causing Tali to glance back towards him eagerly at the news.

"Good," Tali answered. "Let's bring in the tank, then." Turning her attention to Shepard again, she motioned for her to follow behind her, heading back towards the docking passage before starting to make her way in the direction of the adjoining quarian vessel. Glancing over her shoulder behind her, Shepard watched as Miranda indicated for Reegar to follow her, before the two of them began to disappear in the direction of the Minuteman Station lab, but her attention was quickly drawn back again as Tali began to speak once more. Jogging a few steps to catch up, Shepard listened as Tali began to explain the concept of the Clean Room, tucking her hands in the pockets of her hoodie as she tried to keep up with the quarian's eager gait. "First, we need to get you changed out of those clothes and into something sanitary," Tali began, seeming excited to share her culture with Shepard. "Quarian Clean Rooms are specifically designed to be as hygienic as possible, so as to minimalize the risk of infection or contamination during medical procedures. We can't risk introducing foreign bacteria into the Clean Room environment, considering how vulnerable most quarians out of their exosuits are. Especially newborn infants."

"Of course," Shepard answered, distracted by her surroundings, only hearing a fraction of what Tali was saying. She had never been to this part of a quarian ship before, and even though she had been brought here by invitation, she still could not help feeling she was invading on something extremely personal. "I understand completely."

"Once your baby is artificially born, it will be transferred into a Bubble," Tali explained, leading Shepard down a long hallway before stopping to marshal her into a room three doors from the end of the hall. "Just like any of our babies would. Once its immune system is determined to be up to par, you'll be able to take it home with you, but until then I recommend leaving it in the Bubble to make sure nothing goes amiss." Moving up to the wall of the room, she ran her fingers over a line of squares making up the pattern of the wall, before pulling up a holographic keypad with a wave of her hand and inputting an unlock code. Taking a step back from the wall, Tali watched as the wall square gave a soft hiss, a billow of steam wafting out as the square popped open to reveal what looked to be a heat-sealed locker. Pulling a warm pair of neatly-folded white scrubs from the locker, Tali closed it securely again, turning her attention back to Shepard and watching as she began to hesitantly undress, seeming a bit taken aback by the unusual storage system. "You can never be too careful with these things," Tali told her, matter-of-factly. "With quarian newborns, even one little bacterium can put their life at risk. We don't want to take any chances when it comes to your baby. Not after everything you've been through already."

"You want me to leave her here? With you?" Shepard asked, unzipping her hoodie and tossing it aside in a corner of the room. "How am I supposed to get her back? Do I come to live with the Migrant Fleet?" Pulling off her shoes as well, she tossed them aside to join her hoodie, followed by her socks and then pants, unfastening them and dropping them unceremoniously in a pile in the corner. Tali watched her pull her shirt up over her head and toss it aside as well, before holding out the scrubs for her to take and watching her start to pull them on instead.

"You would be taking the Bubble with you," Tali explained, obligingly. "When your baby's immune system is strong enough, then you can return it to us. No mother should be forced to be separated from her child for that long. That would just be cruel." Seeing that Shepard had finished changing her clothes, she beamed at her through the glass of her helmet, her glowing eyes narrowing into eager slits as she motioned for Shepard to follow along. "Kal should be finished prepping the tank for extraction by now," she said. "You still have one more disinfecting step before you can enter the Clean Room, but after that, it's just a matter of outsmarting the tank. If I'm not mistaken, Kal will have already hooked it up to a power source in our Clean Room to access its main computer, but it still needs to have an override key put in to convince it to re-do the scan to ensure the environment is clean and sterile enough to proceed."

"Miranda said she could get the key," Shepard put in, helpfully.

"Right," Tali agreed. "If everything goes according to plan with the override key, then all we'll need to do is drain the amniotic fluid and we'll be ready to initiate the birthing sequence." Stopping in front of another door, she put in a short code, allowing the door to slide open with a _hiss_ , before indicating for Shepard to go in ahead of her. "This is the last step in the sterilization process," she explained, moving into the room after Shepard and allowing the door to close behind them. "It's a bit like the decontamination chamber on the Normandy, only this one is programmed to target bacteria specifically harmful to quarians in addition to common foreign germs. It's a bit more thorough than a generic decontamination chamber in that way." At this explanation, Shepard looked up towards the ceiling of the room, curious, but no sooner had she done so when the vents on the ceiling gave a loud _hiss_ , a wave of steam billowing down from the pumps to engulf them both in a thick, dewy cloud of sanitizing mist. Shepard coughed as she waved the haze out of her eyes, watching as Tali cleared a streak of condensation from her foggy visor, before a low rumbling sound began to come from the vents at their feet and the steam began to slowly dissipate, disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared.

"You and Miranda will have to wait outside the Clean Room," Tali warned her, allowing the door in front of them to slide open before moving through as if nothing had happened. "Even with your disinfected clothes and prepping, you still may not be quite sanitary enough to satisfy the machine's sterilization sensor."

"What about my baby?" Shepard asked, now worried, sliding her hands aimlessly across the material of her scrub top, looking for somewhere to put her hands, only to find nothing there. "Will I get to see her? How am I going to get to hold her if I can't come in the Clean Room?" She faltered, clenching her hands at her sides, realizing how much like a worried, doting mother she was already starting to sound. If she had heard herself fretting like this barely six months ago, she would have cringed, but now she could not help her short fingernails from digging into the flesh of her palms as she followed anxiously behind Tali towards the Clean Room, staying barely a step behind her like an overeager show dog waiting for a command.

Tali sighed as she reached the Clean Room, turning and holding her hands up to stop Shepard in her tracks, causing her to nearly run into the quarian as she stopped short, running on anxious momentum. "Shepard, don't worry," Tali told her, reassuringly, speaking slowly to quell her nerves as she shook her helmeted head. "You'll be able to come in and see her once we don't have to worry about the tank anymore. As long as the baby is in the tank, it would probably be best if you weren't in the room." Letting her hands drop down again, she let out a soft sigh, watching as Shepard fidgeted anxiously in front of her, still seeming not entirely at ease with the thought of not being present for her own child's birth. "I promise I'll take care of your baby in the meantime," she told her, more persuasively this time. "But, do you really want to risk the tank sealing itself again? You already had one close call with that."

"Which is one too many," Shepard agreed, letting out a heavy sigh of her own. Making a face, she twisted her hands together, anxiously, before dropping them purposefully back to her sides, instead tangling her fingers in the material of her scrub pants as she glanced towards the broad, plexiglass window spanning the room beyond. "Will I be able to see you working through there?" she asked, pointing to the window, hopefully.

"Absolutely," Tali assured her, giving another affirming nod. "Miranda and Kal should be down any minute now. Then we can begin the procedure." She paused, considering this for a moment, before looking up at Shepard again, unable to keep an obvious little smile from pinching the corners of her glowing eyes. "This is so exciting," she added, breaking her professional stiffness for the first time, causing Shepard to remember suddenly just how young she still was. Tali had been barely more than an awkward teenager when she had first joined Shepard and her crew aboard the Normandy SR-1 during her pilgrimage, but in the nearly four years she had gotten to know the quarian, she had grown from an eager, confused little upstart to a poised, esteemed Admiral of her Fleet. Somehow, it still surprised Shepard to think that she was barely out of her teenaged years, though she figured it made sense that she would forget, as most of the things Tali had dealt with since Shepard had known her were hardly things suited for teenagers to handle, especially with as much grace and level-headedness as Tali had managed to do.

Just then, the sound of the decontamination chamber opening again caused Shepard to turn, and as she watched, Miranda and Reegar entered the room, followed by a quickly-dissipating trail of hazy condensation. Miranda wore the same type of sterilized scrubs Shepard did, but it seemed the steam from the decontamination chamber had caused her usually pristine hair to act up, and she frowned as she absentmindedly went over it with her good hand, trying to get it to lay flat again. Reegar wasted no time in making his way over to where Tali stood, tucking his hands behind his back as he came to stand dutifully beside her at the door, waiting for her to open it and allow the two of them inside. "Miss Lawson is prepped and sterilized, Ma'am," he reported, matter-of-factly. "The tank is hooked up and ready to go in the Clean Room. The draining system is already in place." Then, turning to look towards Shepard and Miranda again, he offered them a reassuring nod of his helmeted head, before indicating towards the Clean Room through the large plexiglass display window. "The procedure shouldn't take more than a few minutes," he told them, doing his best to sound encouraging. "After that you're welcome to come inside. We just can't take any risks while the procedure is underway, you understand."

"I already informed Shepard," Tali assured him, pulling up a holographic keypad on the Clean Room door and starting to enter a bypass code. The keypad flashed yellow as the code was accepted, letting out a series of sharp beeps before the door unsealed with a jarring _hiss_ , allowing the quarians to pass inside. Reegar moved through the door without hesitation, but Tali paused to look back towards Shepard and Miranda first, holding up a hand to get their attention. "We're going to be removing our suits," she warned. "Don't be alarmed. It's normal for quarian birthing rituals. Quarian babies' skin is very sensitive and the material of the suit has a tendency to agitate it. It's why we allow our children's immune systems to develop into adolescence before giving them a suit of their own." Glancing back towards Reegar in the Clean Room, she watched as he activated the gestation tank, pulling up the options screen and starting to type something into it. "It still creates an irritation upon first being donned, but their immune systems are much better equipped to deal with it after a few years of development," Tali went on, seeming distracted, as if waiting for some sort of signal from Reegar to join him in the Clean Room. "The material and the wards built into the suits stave off a good deal of infection, however, so we figure a bit of irritation is a small price to pay. I don't know if your baby's skin is similarly sensitive to our children's, but we figured it was better not to take any chances."

"We're good to go, Ma'am," Reegar reported, holding up an affirming hand. Tali nodded, understanding, before offering Miranda and Shepard one last reassuring smile and turning to join him in the Clean Room. Once the door had shut behind her, Tali reached back, pulling down her hood, before starting to unlatch her helmet, pulling it up and off her head before letting out a heavy sigh of relief. Setting her helmet aside on a nearby table, she turned then to Reegar, indicating for him to help her out of her exosuit. Reegar was dutifully quick to comply, unfastening a clasp Shepard could never have figured out, before the rest of the suit began to come off easily, allowing Tali to remove it on her own. Reegar was next to shed his helmet, and then his suit with Tali's help, revealing what looked like some sort of skin-tight thermalweave diving gear underneath. The fact that quarians wore undersuits beneath their exosuits surprised Shepard for some reason, though she was not certain why – she always wore an undersuit under her armour, so it stood to reason that Tali and Reegar would, too. She supposed she had come to think of their suits as something singular and self-contained, so the idea that they were merely an exterior layer over something even more basically functional seemed odd and out of place. Still, she kept this thought to herself as she watched them fold their suits carefully on a side table, before they began to pull on sterile medical masks and gloves instead, making sure to cover their bases adequately before starting in on the procedure.

Shepard had never seen a quarian outside of their suit before, but now that she saw what they actually looked like, she was not sure what she had been expecting. Tali's skin was pale, translucent like the skin of an axolotl, but with just enough iridescent pigment that it appeared a deep, watery lavender in the bright white lights of the clean room. Shepard could see her delicate veins through the thin membrane of her skin, and for an instant she considered taking a step back from the glass, as if afraid she might endanger Tali simply by standing anywhere near her. Reegar, too, had the same translucent-looking skin, though his seemed a bit hardier than Tali's, and Shepard could see what looked to be a toughened scar on the edge of his jaw from where an infection had started and healed. Their ears were scalloped, pointed and nearly humanoid in their shell-like shape, but pressed so closely to the side of their hairless heads that they had fused almost entirely with the rest of the skin. Their noses were nearly flat, though Reegar's was more pronounced than Tali's, with the bridges best visible from a profile view, and their nostrils were barely more than slits in their elegant, otherworldly faces. Their slanted eyes were pale blue, nearly white, and gave off a soft, luminescent glow as Tali turned her gaze towards Shepard, the organic markings in her face giving a soft flicker of bioluminescent light as well as she took a few steps forward, addressing the Commander.

"I'm going to initiate the birthing sequence," Tali explained, and Shepard had to hold back a look of surprise at how different her voice sounded without the filter of her mask. The burbling, digital-sounding double-tone was gone, replaced by a clear, bright, if somewhat nasally voice, but Tali did not even seem to notice the difference as she pointed towards the large, drum-like amniotic tank. "You might hear some loud noises, but don't worry," she told Shepard, who frowned at the forewarning. "That's just the draining system. Your baby isn't in any danger."

"Are you sure?" Shepard asked, pressing a worried hand to the glass.

Tali smiled at her worried expression, offering an understanding bob of her head. "Our draining system is no different from yours, Shepard," she told her, honestly. "I promise you. It's just a gentle vacuuming device, that's all. It's just going to remove the liquid keeping the organ buoyant so we can begin the removal process." Finished with her explanation, she turned away from the window again, moving over to what looked to be a sleek silver drum and trailing a foldaway hose out from its base to attach to a valve on one end of the cylindrical gestation tank. Turning the appliance on, Tali took a step back, folding her arms as she watched it work, seeming almost detachedly interested in the vibrating roaring of the machine. The sound of the drain set Shepard's teeth on edge, and she had to clench her hands into fists to keep from biting through her tongue in anticipation of the awful noise ending, until finally, with one last, grating suctioning sound, the machine began to power down. The hose spanning between the containers went limp as the process ended, and Tali paused a moment, making sure it was done, before giving a satisfied nod and moving to detach the silver suctioning reservoir from the main gestation tank.

Reegar was next to move up to the window, tapping the glass with one finger to get Miranda's attention, causing both women to look his way as he cleared his throat, gently, preparing to speak. "We're going to need the override key," he told Miranda, straightforwardly. His voice, like Tali's, was much different without his helmet, though his was less nasal than smooth and quiet, vastly different from the almost clipped-sounding tone the filter on his mask gave him. Miranda nodded, understanding, before quickly pulling up her omni-tool and sending the information his way, and Reegar returned the appreciative nod as his tool gave a soft beep, confirming the transfer. Turning to head back to Tali at the cistern, he passed his tool over the override monitor, causing the monitor to flash green as the key was accepted. Then, with a soft hissing sound, the tank door popped open, allowing Tali to lift the flap, accessing the space inside.

Picking up a scalpel from the small side table, Tali rotated it anxiously between her fingers, turning her attention back to the gestation tank and reaching into it with her free hand to steady the organ inside it, preparing for extraction. Her hand remained steady as she began to cut, taking her time with tiny, delicate incisions, making her way from the top of the organ to the bottom as she sliced her way through the tender, pink membrane. Then, having finished, she set the scalpel aside again, reaching into the tank with both hands to pry the organ open and remove the lifeform from inside. Reegar was ready with a soft, white blanket as Tali pulled the tiny form out of the tank and into her arms, quickly transferring it into the cloth as she began to gingerly wipe it down, cleaning the excess fluids from its delicate, purple-looking skin. Its pigmentation was still off-colour from the time spent in suspended animation, making it nearly impossible to tell what skin tone it actually had before it was relocated into the blanket and wrapped for safety and warmth.

Shepard held her breath as she watched Tali pick up another tool from the side table, this one a long, syringe-like apparatus with a bulb on the end, which she was quick to slide down into the folds of the blanket, squeezing the end and watching it fill with liquid Shepard assumed had come from the baby's breathing tract. This was the moment she had been waiting for, the final, definitive, telling moment that determined whether all their hard work had paid off, the moment she finally got to know whether her baby had turned out healthy, as Miranda had promised, or if the other daunting, unthinkable alternative were lurking just on the other side of the sterile glass. Tali emptied the syringe into a bowl, getting rid of the liquid from the baby's lungs, before returning it to the infant's mouth, filling it up with liquid again. The silence that permeated the Clean Room at her actions made Shepard weak, her arms feeling like cold, weighted lead, her legs like numb gelatine, her fingers curling fearfully against the glass as she held her breath, waiting for an answer. Then, finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the quiet, weary, muted sound of a baby's cries began to filter through the glass, causing Shepard to give a soft sob, raising her hand to cover her mouth to keep from startling the newborn. She could feel tears filling her eyes as the sound of the baby's cries grew stronger, still not quite as loud as she was expecting, and she turned to Miranda, letting out a relieved breath, unable to keep a smile from overtaking her face.

"My baby," she told her, hardly able to breathe, too stunned to form a complete sentence. "That's— my baby…!"

Miranda beamed back at her enthusiasm, before reaching forward to pull Shepard in for a tight, disbelieving hug. She could feel Shepard shaking through her thin sanitary garb, wound so tightly from joy and relief she could barely contain herself, and as Miranda pulled away from the hug again, she could see that tears had begun to stream down her face, but Shepard was apparently too overwhelmed to even notice. Turning back towards the Clean Room again, Shepard pressed her hands against the glass, barely stopping herself from pressing her face against it as well as she watched Tali pick up a pair of medical scissors, her hand sliding up the umbilical cord before making one clean, decisive cut. Having finished extracting the baby from the tank, she swaddled it up in the blanket again, making sure to cover every bit of its delicate body with soft cloth, before turning to Reegar and bouncing the baby gently in her arms as the two of them fawned over it, unable to help themselves. Then, satisfied that her work was done, she turned away from the window again, making her way to a corner of the Clean Room where there sat what looked to be a large, domed plexiglass incubator.

The incubator, or whatever it was, floated independently from the ground, the slow, gentle rising and falling set to imitate a mother's breathing, with a sheer white bedding padding it along the bottom and a series of round, filtered ventilation modules set into the base. Shepard had never seen a quarian Bubble before, but she had to figure that that was probably what this apparatus was. Making her way back over to the Clean Room window, Tali waved to Miranda and Shepard, smiling out at them before pointing to Shepard and indicating for her to come inside. Shepard let out a hard, shaky, excited breath, reaching down to squeeze Miranda's hand in anticipation before turning to head towards the door of the Clean Room, waiting for Reegar to clear her inside, feeling her entire body shaking beneath her, her legs feeling numb, her hands prickly and cold, her face glowing and overwarm. Reegar handed her a sanitary mask and a pair of gloves, which she was quick to slip on, before he took a step back, allowing her to pass by him as she made her way towards Tali and the Bubble.

Coming up on the Bubble, Shepard hesitated, almost too nervous to even look inside, before finally pressing her face against the dome, her gloved hands leaving eager prints against the plexiglass as she peered in at the swaddled bundle. She could barely see the baby past the sheet that surrounded it, but she could just make out a tiny, moving, greyish hand peeking out from the folds of the blanket, and she smiled wider at the sight of the tiny appendage, barely able to keep from losing her knees beneath her as she dragged a finger along the glass, gesturing in silent adoration to the baby inside the Bubble. Coming to stand near Shepard's elbow, Tali looked in on the infant as well, turning her attention back to Shepard as she let out a deep, adoring sigh, watching the baby take hold of the edge of the blanket, aimless and innocent.

"Congratulations, Shepard," Tali cooed, speaking in barely above a whisper so as not to disturb the newborn infant, causing Shepard to look up at her at the commendation, eager and proud. "He's beautiful."

Shepard's expression instantly fell at this, and for a moment she could only stare at Tali, startled, wondering if perhaps the quarian had misspoken and might catch her own mistake and correct herself. "'He'?" she finally asked, trying hard not to sound too disconcerted. "Are you sure it's a boy? Not to doubt your expertise, but… Miranda and Liara both said it was a girl."

Tali faltered at this, seeming surprised, herself. Then, after a moment, she shook her head, letting out a soft, silvery laugh, before reaching forward towards the Bubble and starting to unlatch the safety door. "Of course Miranda would think that," she said, sliding her hands gently under the swaddled bundle. Lifting the baby up from the padded floor of the enclosure, she passed him through the circular door hole, careful not to jostle him too much as she moved, before gingerly sliding him over to his mother, making sure to support his fragile head as she passed him into her waiting arms. Shepard shifted the tiny bundle against her chest, hooking one finger into the soft material to peek in at the baby's genitalia, and had to stifle a soft laugh, half embarrassed, half relieved, when she saw the familiar carapace and slit that Garrus had in his own underregion. It had not been a fluke that everything up to then had projected the baby would turn out to be a girl – only that neither Liara nor Miranda had ever seen a turian's genitals before, and so neither had thought to look for internalized genitalia, rather than the externalized human kind.

"It _is_ a boy," Shepard confirmed, laughing, looking up at Tali again and beaming too widely to stop herself. Then, looking back down at the small miracle in her arms, she let out a soft, shaky, contented sigh, barely able to keep a pair of tears from escaping her eyes at the sight of her new baby. Despite what the doctor at the hospital had said, her baby appeared to be [perfectly formed](http://img07.deviantart.net/498b/i/2015/187/a/2/baby_david__me3__per_aspera__by_hannah_mation-d907lfi.png), with two arms and two legs, three fingers and a thumb on each hand and three toes on each foot, and a beautiful round head with a precious, gently-featured face that appeared at first more human, and then more turian, making it difficult to tell which parent he resembled more strongly. His skin was still soft from utero, though she could tell it was also somewhat papery, like sharkskin leather, the texture not quite like either of his parents, but more of a combination of both. "He's beautiful," she breathed, her words catching lightly in her throat as she choked back a soft, thankful sob. "My baby boy." Letting another tear roll down her cheek, she reached forward, gingerly brushing the baby's fine wisps of dark, down-like hair to one side, and in return, the infant huffed and burbled at her touch, still too young to process a definitive reaction. Shepard could not keep from beaming down at him at the response, completely and utterly in love.

"What are you going to name him?" Tali asked, eagerly, causing her to look up at the quarian again.

Shepard paused, thoughtful, before slowly shaking her head and turning her attention back down to her baby, fixated by the tiny child in her arms. "I don't know," she admitted, honestly, still in a daze. "I hadn't really thought about it before now. I… wasn't expecting to make it this far." Reaching down with a gentle hand, she petted back the few wispy strands of the baby's dark down, her finger trailing, mesmerized, along the ridge of his ear, her smile widening in disbelief at the sheer splendour of her child. "I also expected him to be a girl," she added, more as an amused afterthought than anything else, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the infant. "I had an idea for a name for a girl, but… I have no idea what to name a boy." Tali nodded, silently intuitive, before shifting a bit closer to rest her head against Shepard's thin shoulder, staring down at the baby in her arms and considering him fondly. Shepard stared down at her new baby as well, rocking him gently against her chest, watching as he curled up against her, nestling his head against her breasts as he yawned, preparing to fall asleep.

"You know…" Shepard suddenly spoke up again, considering her words, causing Tali to look up at her again, attentive. "I never thought I would have what it takes to be a mother. Even when I was actually pregnant, I always felt like the world would look down on me, like they'd judge me if I were to tell anybody about it. Not because I was pregnant, but because I was… me." Pausing in her gentle rocking, she frowned a bit, the look of adoration on her face wavering momentarily as she thought back to the months she had spent doing everything in her power to keep the members of her crew from finding out about her pregnancy. "Every time somebody found out about it, I… I felt _embarrassed_ , almost… _ashamed_ ," she admitted, a faint tremble in her voice as she continued on. "Like being pregnant was something I wasn't ever meant to do, or something I didn't deserve. Like I was doing something… _dirty_ , for me. Something unseemly. Like I was taking it away from someone else, someone more deserving of it than I was."

Pausing again in her explanation, Shepard's brow furrowed a bit deeper in thought as she gently brushed a few dark, flyaway strands of hair off her baby's sleeping forehead, distracted, her expression distant. "There was only one person who I felt… _right_ , telling about my pregnancy," she finally said, her voice quiet, barely loud enough for Tali to hear. "More than my mother, more than any of my friends… more than Garrus, even. Someone who made me feel like it was something I was _meant_ to do, like… that it was an act of love. Someone who… told me they were proud of me, and assured me… despite my uncertainty… that I would be a _great_ mother." She stopped again, her voice choking up, before shaking her head in disbelief, wetting her lips as she watched her unbelievable baby slumber. "He's perfect," she said, her voice trembling with affection. "And I know what I'm going to call him." Taking a deep, shuddering breath in, she smiled down at her baby's sleeping form, running a doting finger over his cheek as he began to yawn again. Suddenly, he reached out a tiny hand, curling it protectively around her finger, and she let out a soft, adoring sob as she pulled him forward to press a tender kiss to his forehead. Letting him settle back again, she let out another, devoted sigh, before looking up at Tali once more with a resolute smile spread across her face.

"David," she told her, determinedly. "His name… is David."

* * *

**[ End of Pt.1 ]**


End file.
